For Rohan and Redemption
by stndabvthcrwd1
Summary: SEQUEL to For Gondor and Rohan; Alandria has changed since the fall of Boromir. The Fellowship broke, and yet the War is not ended, as Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn and Alandria come to Rohan. Can old friends help heal new wounds? ; Eventual EomerOC
1. Part 1: Home of the Horselords

**So here it is everyone, the sequel to my previous story, For Gondor and Rohan. Yes, as the summary stated this will be an eventual EomerOC story, but of course that will take a little while, as he doesn't appear much in the Two Towers :) I could just go the book's way, but I don't feel comfortable enough to try! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it. I am nervous, and hope it does not disappoint! Please review and let me know what you think :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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It seemed as though they'd been running forever. Three days, it really had been, but none of them denied the exhuastion they felt. Yet despite it, they still carried on. Still they ran, never stopping, rarely sleeping, hardly eating or drinking save for when they came across water. Never before had any of them endured such a journey. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Ranger of the North and heir of Isilduir led them; Legolas Greenleaf of the Mirkwood Elves ran with; Gimli, son of Glòin, there was also; then Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn, from Rohan. Three days it had been since the fateful battle of Amon Hen, and for that long she had been a near stranger to the rest of her company. None of them could recall one word from her since they set out - although there was no denying they'd hardly spoken themselves either. She ignored them all other than when Aragorn issued any sort of order - stop, rest, move out - and stayed silent in the hope that silence would bring her peace. It did not.

The rare times they rested, only for a couple hours each, she was plagued with nightmares. Dark dreams of the battle by the river, and the one she'd lost. The soldier of Gondor, Boromir, son of Denethor. Whether waking or asleep, he tormented her mind. She felt broken inside, mangled, and the hole his loss had torn into her chest was still bared, still hurting and vulnerable. But she had not the time to linger on such pains. They were running, following, hoping to catch the band of orcs that carried two hobbits - their friends and once fellow companions. Often she found herself longing and praying to have beneath her a strong steed, a horse of her country on which to travel. Travel, and even fighting, on foot was not welcomed by her, and she had grown tired of it. She wanted her horse, her country, her people. If she must be deprived of the man she had grown to love, must she lack every other joy in the world as well? The question answered itself - yes, she must, for these were not times of comfort and joy. The rough ground beneath her and harsh sun above only proved such words.

On the bright morning of the third day, the quartet was at a rare stand-still, Aragorn lying flat on the ground with his ear pressed to the earth. No one moved, or hardly breathed, for fear they should disturb the Ranger's listening. He lay there for several long moments, straining to hear the running of hundreds of large, armored orcs. Alandria stood patiently, but it was not a long wait.

"Their pace has quickened." The dark-haired man murmured, slowly opening his eyes and raising his head. "They have caught our scent. Hurry!" And at his word, he was on his feet, running again, with Legolas, Gimli, and her following.

"Come on Gimli!" The Elf encouraged his Dwarf friend, who followed considerably slower. Alandria didn't wait to hear any reply from the short, sturdy man, and kept an even pace with the Elf, following Aragorn.

Their travel for the next full day - and most of the night - was same as it had been previously. The expansive golden grass and hills of rock, low mountains and deep creeks surrounded by even more empty grassland - it began to excite Alandria. She knew where the chase of the orcs was leading them. Straight into Rohan. Straight to the country and people she hadn't seen in months. She would endure another week of this exhausting chase just to lay eyes on the city of Edoras, the Golden Hall of Meduseld. But near the peak of the next day, Aragorn dropped to his knees while tracking in a shaded valley. Alandria and Legolas were soon at his side, and she stared down in confusion at the green and silver leaf-brooch between the Ranger's fingers.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lòrien fall." He breathed, brushing dirt from the pendant.

"They may yet be alive." Legolas murmured softly, while Alandria felt cold dread creep up her spine nonetheless.

"Less than a day ahead of us." Aragorn decided, rising to his feet again and at once beginning to run, with the Lady of Rohan and Elf close behind. "Come."

As they wove out of the low valley, Legolas led them up to a rocky hill, and then they paused atop the stones. Alandria was hit with a flood of mixed emotions, all far stronger than she would have liked. She was comforted and yet excited by the sight of the rocky, golden plains before them, the plains of Rohan; a flood of anxiety and fear for what she would find when she arrived hit her as well; and, at the edge of it all, was a sorrow for the man she wanted by her side to see the land of her country with her, and who would not ever be there.

The mix of emotions from simply seeing part of the country was overwhelming, so much that her eyes burned with the prick of tears and her breath rushed out shakily in one word, the first word any had heard her speak since the battle of Amon Hen: "Boromir." Alandria had hoped that when - and if - they came to her country, as the Fellowship, he could share with her the experience of being home again, and the same when they got to his home, Gondor. None of that would ever happen now. "Rohan.." She finally spoke again, just a whisper. "We're here."

Aragorn nodded, as they all gazed out at the golden hills before them. "Home of the Horse-lords. Are you glad to be back, Lady Alandria?" She could only nod, her feet anxious to carry them closer to the city of Edoras, but the Ranger was still comtemplating their path. "Why into Rohan? There's something strange at work here..some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets it will against us..." He paused for a moment, before running closer to the edge of the large rock. Only then did Alandria notice the Elf had made his way down below them, and further ahead, and was perched on top of his own boulder. "Legolas!" Aragorn yelled. "What do your Elf-eyes see?"

"The Orcs turned North-east...they're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

Alandria shared the same fear they all felt at the mention of the now-evil place, with it's tower of Orthanc and corrupt White Wizard. She turned to Aragorn, hoping for some direction from him, but he only reflected her fears. "Saruman." He whispered, and then scrambled down to meet up with Legolas, Alandria and Gimli following. "They are surely going to Isengard?" The Ranger was asking the Elf as they approached, and the fair blonde immortal nodded.

"There is no other place to go on their path. They are taking Merry and Pippin to Saruman."

"They've got no chance there!" Gimli spoke up, as unnerved as they all were by this news. "And we're never going to catch them in time!"

"True." Legolas agreed. "Even as fast as we are traveling, these large orcs are stronger, and run in sunlight with ease. I do not see us catching them before they reach Isengard."

"We must try!" Aragorn snapped, already beginning to run. "We are the hobbits' only chance."

Alandria followed with Legolas and Gimli, none of them arguing with the Ranger, for they all knew it to be true. Now again they ran and ran, stopping even less than before and running faster, fresh strength in their blood now that they knew their friends were headed to the White Wizard. That night they each slept barely more than an hour, before pressing on again. And when the sun rose, it was pale and red, staining the remaining darkness a pale pink. Alandria ignored the Elf's prophecy about the red sun and blood being spilt, but could not deny it gave her a chill. What if they were too late, and the orcs had decided to kill Merry and Pippin already? Still, they did not cease or pause their chase, and soon the bright sun lit the entire gold landscape around them.

* * *

There was an strange sound in the air, or so it seemed to Alandria, as the small group ran - and stumbled - exhaustedly onto the brink of a large hill, overlooking the country below them for miles. As she became aware of the sound, it seemed to grow louder, until suddenly, it dawned on her what it was, why it was so familiar. And it was coming from behind them. She whirled around, just as Aragorn lowered himself to his knees again to read the signs in the ground. The shrieking whinny of a horse alerted the other three, and at Aragorn's signal, they hurried to the rocky part of the slope. The Ranger and Elf crouched low, pulling Gimli quickly down beside them, but Alandria stood a few paces back. She trembled with anxiety, knowing what was coming.

Soon, the first several of the horsemen appeared before them, coming over the hill, and as they rushed forward in a mass of glinting silver, flaxen hair, and horse-flesh, were followed by at least a couple hundred more. Aragorn realized who they were and glanced at his companions, catching Alandria's eye. She felt a faint, very faint, weak smile twitch her lips. The Ranger faced back at the horse riders, and smoothly rose to his feet, striding out of their hiding place as the last of the Riders galloped by - as always, with Legolas, Alandria, and Gimli close behind.

"Riders of Rohan!" Aragorn yelled at the men galloping before him. "What news from the Mark?"

Alandria saw the Rider in the lead raise his spear as soon as the Ranger's voice broke the beats of their horses' hooves, and with a swiftness and smoothness that awed the rest of the company, the group of horsemen turned around and now rode back to where the Man, Woman, Elf, and Dwarf stood. Alandria felt her stomach twist and turn and boil in anticipation, thrilled to see Riders of her country again, wondering who among them she would know, praying this meant they would go on their way to Edoras soon.

The other three however did not similarly share her excitment and anxiety. Rather, they were nervous, unsure how the infamously proud and gallant Riders would treat such strange new arrivals. Once the Riders came to where they stood, their cautiousness only increased. The men steered their horses effeciently around the small group to form a tight, layered circle, a living wall, locking them in. They all sat silently upon their tall steeds, spears raised and aimed at which ever newcomer they chose. Their helms covered eyes and most features, leaving only wisps of golden hair and tight jaws with firm mouths to be seen. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli stood uneasily, with their hands raised in peace. Alandria merely stood and watched in fascination.

As soon as the circle made itself complete, a Rider on a tall dappled horse thrust himself forward, earning the quartet's attention. "What business does an Elf, a Man, a Dwarf and a...Woman, have in the Riddermark?" The appearance of Alandria seemed to surprise him, but it was merely her gender that came as a shock, for he continued in his demanding voice, "Speak quickly!"

Alandria stared at the man carefully as he spoke, his voice growing ever more familiar but his face hard to make out for the helm and the height at which he sat. All she could define was the glint of cautious, angry, dark eyes.

"Give me your name, Horse-Master, and I shall give you mine." Gimli countered smoothly, receiving a glance from Aragorn and hard glare from the Rider.

The man did indeed glare, hard and harsh, before handing his spear to a companion and sliding smoothly from his horse. He strode proudly towards the Dwarf, and soon his features were obvious to Alandria. "I would cut off your head, Dwarf-"

"Èomer?" She interrupted the man, to the thanks of Aragorn and Legolas, for stopping an arugment before it began. "Éomer, Third Marshal?" She repeated, stepping closer. The proud Rider stared at her for a moment, and she saw the confusion sweep over his features. He raised his hands to his helm, removing it slowly as if to see her better, and holding it at his side. He revealed a dark gold mane of hair, tied back but loose, and a short, brown beard. His jaw was firm, and his eyes dark, dark hazel. Alandria knew for sure her declaration was not wrong. She knew before her stood the King's nephew, her closest friend's brother, Third Marshal of the Mark - Èomer, son of Èomund.

"No.." He murmured, staring at her in shock. "It cannot be..Alandria? Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn?" She nodded to each of his questions, and the odd sensation of another faint smile tugged at her mouth, straining to be let out but unable to work correctly. The man did not notice however and instead rushed forward, embracing her powerfully - to the shocked stares of the rest of the woman's company. Alandria returned his embrace just as strongly, clasping onto the strong shoulders and broad chest as her insides felt as if they were caught in a whirlwind. She had never gotten very close to the Third Marshal, but as he was the brother of her friend and a lord in her country, they were certainly acquainted more than once. Any familiar face was beyond a joy to see now, and his was definitley not an exception.

They held to each other tightly for a long moment, until the feel of a broad chest and shoulders became too painfully familiar, and she broke away. "It has been too long, my lord." She said quickly, trying to shake the swarm of emotions that were plaguing her.

"Aye, far too long, friend-of-my-sister." The man smiled, once stony and harsh features now softened and at ease. "Many have missed you!" His face fell then, and he studied her with oddly intense dark eyes. "No one knew where you went, you just disappeared. And then your horse returned rider-less...we thought you were dead."

"I am sorry, but I had to leave so. Lady Èowyn knew, but it seems as though she did not tell."

"Indeed she didn't. But now that you are back, will you tell where your adventure went? And how you came across such...varied company?" His gaze finally returned to her companions, and it was guarded again, harsh and cautious.

Alandria shook her head, knowing better than to even begin their story. "It is far too long a tale to tell now, my lord. It was a matter I know for sure you will hear about again. As for my companions, this is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Aragorn bowed his head. "Legolas of the Woodland Realm," Legolas glared, most likely still sore from the started threat to his Dwarf friend. "and Gimli, son of Glòin." Gimli merely huffed.

"We are friends of Rohan, and Thèoden, your king." Aragorn finally spoke, breaking himself and the other two from the spell they had been laid in since Alandria and the Horse-lord began conversing.

Èomer observed the Ranger carefully, dark eyes still distrusting, before he sighed. "Thèoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin." He gestured to himself vaguely, before signaling to the other Riders, who only then lowered their spears.

Alandria's brow furrowed, and she glanced at the Riders circled about them before turning her gaze back to the tall man before her. "What do you speak of? I knew the King was...ill when I left, but do you mean it has grown worse?"

Èomer nodded with another sigh, hard features now appearing weary. "Saruman has poisoned his mind and is claiming lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that...we are banished."

"Banished?!" Alandria could not help the cry of surprise that broke from her lips, but Èomer only bowed his head slightly. "What evil could allow this?! Is there no one in Edoras to intercept these indecencies?"

"Any of us that spoke against these actions, or even fought to rid the lands of orc invasions - well, we are here before you. Banished."

"Thèodred?" The tall man dropped her gaze, and shifted, but did not answer. "He is dead?!" She cried again, surprising herself and her three companions with the outbursts of emotion.

"Nay, not dead." Èomer replied, then sighed and continued softly. "Not yet."

"My lord, what do you mean?"

"Not but a day ago, I and a party of my men found him and his company, slaughtered, by a troop of Saruman's Uruk-hai. Thèodred was alive, but gravely injured. He is in Meduseld, but last I saw, things to do not look well for him."

Alandria felt as if she couldn't stand, she was so shocked by this news. Everyone she knew, it seemed, was dead or on the brink of death. "And what of Lady Èowyn, what of your sister? Have they found a way to banish her as well?"

"Nay, she remains in Meduseld. She tries to aid the King."

"...tries?"

Èomer shook his head. "He is no longer the King we know. But, as is your story, mine is too long to tell now. Rather, what need brings your company here?" With his words, the golden-haired man eyed her companions once again, before settling on Aragorn, who answered him smoothly.

"We are tracking a party of large orcs across the plains. They have two of our friends."

Èomer stared at the dark-haired man silently for a moment, before glancing down. "These large orcs you seek are Uruk-hai, a strange new breed Saruman has created." His nearly black gaze finally met back with the Ranger's. "We slaughtered them during the night."

"But there would be two hobbits." Gimli burst in. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn explained, but the Third Marshal shook his head.

"We left none alive."

Alandria didn't breathe. She didn't believe it. She didn't want to. Merry and Pippin, the two hobbits they had ran so long and so hard for, were dead? The two hobbits Boromir of Gondor fell protecting, _dead_? And only the night before? At the hands of her own people? Once again she was hit with mixed emotions: disbelief, sorrow, pain, fury...but, once again, she fought it down and held her mask.

"We piled the carcasses and burned them." Èomer was speaking again, and pointing to a cloud of smoke in the hills behind his company.

"Dead?" Breathed Gimli, asking for conformation they all feared.

The Rider nodded, turning his gaze to Alandria but she could not meet it. "I am sorry." Once he received no reply from the travelers before him other than bowed heads, he sighed and then turned, whistling sharply. "Hasufel! Arod!" At his call, two horses without riders were urged into the circle, and Èomer grasped their reins firmly. "They are not much, and only two, but they are strong and will give you rest from running. Perhaps they will bade you better fortune then their previous masters."

Alandria eagerly accepted the reins to the chesnut horse the Rider held, and gently stroked it's nose, comforted by the large creature. After another quiet moment, where Legolas accepted the white horse, she numbly met the dark gaze of the Third Marshal. "Thank you." She replied simply, and he nodded, exchanging glances with the rest of her companions.

"Farewell." He turned and fastened his helm back on, before swinging atop his own dappled steed with ease and re-accepting his spear. "I wish you a quick and safe road to Edoras. And if you must, look for your friends, but do not trust or hope. It is forsaken in these lands." The powerful Rider caught her eyes again, and his dark features were sympathetic, but she did not feel it. She stared blankly back for a moment, only able to understand that now even more of her friends were dead, before turning her attention back to the horse before her. Èomer sighed heavily, nudging his horse into motion and yelling at his men, "We ride North!" And with that, the banished Rohirrim disappeared, in the thunderous beat of hooves.

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**NOTE: I'm also really, really unsure about the title. I know I want it to start with "For Rohan and..." but the next word is evading me. There's one out there, I know it, but I can't find the right one! So anyone with any ideas, please tell me, and I will consider them and quite possibly change the story title :)**


	2. Like A Dream

**Thank you everyone for the reviews! I'm glad to hear you've enjoyed the beginning of this story, and hope you endure and enjoy it till the end :) Take care!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Before the hoof beats of the Riders had even begun to fade, Alandria had begun to acquaint herself with her new steed. "You are Hasufel?" She asked softly, gazing kindly into the creature's large brown eyes. The gelding pricked his ears in reply, and yet again, the hint of a smile teased her mouth. "I am Alandria, and from your country. The Third Marshal tells me your previous Rider fell - I am sorry to hear that. But you are strong, and very beautiful. I ask that you bear our burden only for a short while." The sturdy chestnut bobbed it's head, perhaps in compliance or perhaps because a fly was bothering it. Either way, Alandria took the motion as a reply, and swung herself smoothly into the saddle. She sat impatiently and watched Legolas and Aragorn lift Gimli abroad Legolas' steed, the desire to gallop and feel the wind in her hair nearly driving her mad. It had been so long since she'd ridden, so long since she'd even touched a horse. Once the Dwarf was unstablely seated, the Elf leapt into the saddle with more grace and ease than Alandria had ever seen, and Gimli quickly grasped the blonde man's cloak. Only then did Alandria realize she and Aragorn had to share as well.

He stood beside her steed, mentally deciding how best to get on. Alandria decided to help, and slid her feet out of the stirrups, knowing she would need them less than him, and straddled the pommel closely, then held out her arm. The Ranger grasped her arm firmly in his left hand, and slid his left foot easily into the stirrup. He hopped once, twice, and then once more even harder, while Alandria simultaneously pulled his arm across her chest. The larger man settled behind her surprisingly smoothly, and slipped his other foot into the empty right stirrup, before gently resting his hands on her waist. Alandria shivered against the touch, at the closeness of his body to hers, but if he noticed, she never knew.

"Thank you, my lady."

"Is nothing. I only hope you do not mind that I'm doing the main riding."

"Nay, I would not dare deprive you of such a homecoming gift."

She heard the smile in his voice, but did not return it. "To the smoke?" She simply replied, already turned to the cloud of burned flesh rising over hills.

"Aye." And at his word, she smoothly nudged the horse into a fast canter, worrying a gallop with two riders - even if she was fairly smaller than the man - would be unfair to the beast.

Legolas and Gimli followed easily, and Alandria soon forgot the sorrows and pain of loss to the rush of grassy wind, and warm speed of her steed. She hadn't truly realized how much she missed her country until she returned. The luck of receiving two fine horses from Èomer and the Rohirrim awed her, and she did not take it for granted, reveling in every second that passed and she was abroad the magnificent creature. She could feel it's strong leg muscles rippling beneath her with each stride, and the pants of it's breaths, and the thunder of the hoof beats, like a song welcoming her back. Aragorn had not been wrong when he called her opportunity to ride a homecoming gift. There could be nothing grander than this.

Only when the stench of the burning corpses hit her nose did she realize her thoughts were wrong. Soon the travelers were only meters from the slaughter, and Alandria slowed her horse, surveying the scene with severely dampened spirits. She was wrong. The hobbits here, safe and waiting for them, - that would be grander than this. A soldier of Gondor behind her, rather than a Ranger, - that would be grander than.. - no. She stopped her thoughts, returning to the task at hand as Aragorn dropped from the horse. She soon followed, and saw Legolas help Gimli dismount, before turning back to the brutal scene.

The Uruk-hai and Orc corpses were heaped hap-hazardly into large piles, black and burning, the stench fouler than anything she had smelled before. Everything was black. And dead. There was no possible way Merry and Pippin were alive, and it would take hours to find them among the stench and slaughter. She knew the others thought similar to her, and she stood numbly, waiting to see what would be done. Legolas stood, eyeing each body he saw lying around, before sighing and bowing his head, murmuring a soft prayer; Gimli nudged with his axe through the smoldering pile of bodies, searching uselessly; Aragorn clenched his jaw and surveyed the scene with hard features, furious that their relentless chase had been futile and their friends were gone. Alandria didn't know what do - she had no tears left still, and the pain of loss was familiar enough to her now that she did not notice when it grew stronger.

"It's one of the Elven belts." She heard Gimli murmur, and looked over to see him holding a blackened belt, empty sheath attached. One of the sheaths for the daggers the two Halflings had received in Lòrien.

Suddenly, a roaring cry burst from the previously silently Ranger. It caused the other three to start in surprise, the spontaneous, harsh yell of pain from the normally controlled man. It raised goose bumps on Alandria's skin, such fury and defeat was in the cry. After his outburst, Aragorn furiously kicked an Uruk-hai helm, sending it recklessly away as he fell to his knees in despair. Alandria heard the shallow, shaking breaths he took, laced with distraught emotion.

"We failed them." Gimli whispered, his words speaking their shared thoughts and pain. Alandria merely nodded, agreeing to the letter, but reluctant to speak.

"Aragorn, perhaps we should leave for Edoras." Legolas offered, watching his friend closely.

But the Ranger shook his head, his eyes focused intently on the ground. "A hobbit lay here." He murmured, touching a slight indentation in the grass before him. "And the other." Alandria didn't find his observations interesting, all four of them already knew Merry and Pippin had been there. But the soft-spoken man was intent on whatever he saw in the grass, following signs invisible to her with his hands, following an unseen path. "They crawled…their hands were bound....their bonds were cut!" He exclaimed, and picked up tattered thick ropes, which had been clearly cut apart. Now Alandria, Legolas, and Gimli followed and watched the Ranger curiously, each daring to hope. "They ran over here...they were followed.." Now Aragorn was jogging across the mess of trampled ground and slaughter, his tracking eyes still seeing things blind to the others, but his voice told them everything. "The tracks lead away from the battle!" The trio behind followed quickly, until the man pulled up short, staring ahead with wide eyes. "Into Fangorn Forest."

"Fangorn." Gimli echoed in awe. "What madness drew them in there?"

"I do not know, but they are alive." Aragorn replied simply, relief flooding his voice.

"But how could we know that for sure?" The Dwarf argued. "Just because we Dwarves dwell underground doesn't mean we haven't heard the stories of Fangorn! A dark place, it is! What chance could two little hobbits have?"

"The Forest is not evil, Gimli." Legolas replied softly, blue eyes peering deep into the dark wood. "And you do not want to get on it's bad side so soon."

"It has a bad side, does it? Nothing but trees, Legolas! And whatever witchcraft Saruman has put in it!"

"Think what you wish." The Elf's reply was bored, and distracted, and he continued to watch the forest.

"We enter nonetheless." Aragorn finally declared. "Without proof, we do not claim our friends dead. We will find them. And it shall be in Fangorn Forest."

Before any other could argue again, the tall man strode purposefully into the mass of trees. Alandria followed after only a second's hesitation, having too heard tales of what the Rohirrim called the Entwood but unbothered by the rumors. She did not hear Legolas enter, but Gimli thudded behind her clearly. They walked carefully, the lurching and groaning of the dark places alerting all their nerves, but especially Gimli's, who jumped whenever so much as a leaf moved. Aragorn continued to try and track, but shortly lost the hobbit's trail.

"They're....gone." He murmured in disbelief, kneeling on the ground and scanning the dark floor with hardened, confused, features.

"Gone?" Legolas asked.

"What, dead?" Gimli inquired, still watching the forest.

"No. Gone. As of here," He pointed to a slightly disturbed patch of ground. "there are both the hobbits' tracks, followed by an Orc with a limp. But here," He pointed a matter of inches ahead, where Alandria saw nothing of any importance. "They've disappeared."

"And the Orc?" Legolas questioned, only to receive his reply in the form of Gimli spitting and muttering, 'orc blood.'

"Here." Alandria answered better, nudging a disgustingly flattened black corpse.

"Looks like a large troll stepped on it!" Gimli proclaimed, but Aragorn shook his head, having ignored their find of the orc body and running ahead, again scanning the ground.

"No." He murmured, more to himself than for their ears, as the three jumped over boulders and fallen wood, following the Ranger's hurried tracking. He knelt down carefully then, lifting a finger-full of dark dirt and leaves to his nose, then lowering his hand. "These are strange tracks. Not troll. Not orc. Not anything I've seen before.."

"This forest is old," Legolas spoke softly. "Very old. Full of memory...and anger." Alandria glanced at him in question, catching the look of deep thought on his fair features. Just then a loud groan echoed around them, followed by the creaking such as old wood. Gimli huffed, quickly raising his axe in caution, as the Elf's eyes widened. "The trees are speaking to each other!"

"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed, motioning at the disgruntled Dwarf. "Lower your axe!" Hesitantly, the stout man obeyed.

"They have feelings, my friend." Legolas explained, a faint, wistful smile on his beautiful face. "The Elves began it, the waking up the trees, teaching them to speak.."

"Talking trees, hm?" Gimli snorted, still eyeing the forest. "What do trees have to talk about, hmpf? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings.." Alandria raised an eyebrow in mild amusement, before observing the dark trees around them disbelievingly. She had to agree with the muttering Dwarf - talking trees seemed far too much like a story.

Her attention was soon taken by the blonde Elf again, as he strode lightly across the dark earth, and pointed an urgent flow of Elvish at Aragorn, the only one in their group who could understand it. Aragorn followed quickly, leaning close to whisper another foreign phrase Alandria did not comprehend - although the Elf's returning words were clear, and in Common Tongue: "The White Wizard approaches."

She felt her blood chill at the mention of the Wizard, nervousness and faint fear tingeing her mind. Aragorn nodded at the Elf's words, and his hand immediately reached to the blade at his side; the others followed suit, each readying their own weapon.

"Do not let him speak," The man whispered. "he will put a spell on us." The anticipation was thick in the air, tension and fear lacing everyone's bodies as they held their weapons close. "We must be quick."

They felt the Wizard's presence behind them simultaneously, and turned just the same. Gimli let loose a short roar, only to have the axe he flung at the sheen of white light and robes shatter. Legolas' loosed arrow splintered. Alandria's blade seared her hand, turning red-white with burning, and she could not ignore the pain, flinging the weapon away. Aragorn was forced to do the same. Their defeat had been just as quick as the Wizard's appearance, and Alandria shielded her eyes from the radiant white light and much darker person in it.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits." The voice was eerily similar to Saruman's, but also seemed oddly altered underneath. Part of the trickery, for sure.

"Where are they?!" Aragorn demanded, his own gaze hidden from the light.

"They passed this way, the day before yesterday. They met someone..they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

Alandria wanted to reply no, for the voice was not comforting in the least bit, even more so as it seemed to shift, taking on a more familiar sound. But Aragorn spoke first, in a demanding whisper. "Who are you?" The Wizard did not reply, and the Ranger cried, "Show yourself!" The White form complied, moving slightly and hiding the brilliant light which had blinded them so, bringing into focus the face they seeked. But not the face they expected.

Long, snow-white hair, with a matching beard; bright white robes, and a smooth, perfect white staff with a sculpted head; a kindly aged face, with familiar bright blue eyes and deeper knowledge than any could fathom. It was impossible, and for a long moment, no one spoke. Until Aragorn, forever the leader, found his voice first. "It cannot be." Disbelief that flowed through all their veins echoed in his whispered words, as he lowered his shielding hand.

"Forgive me." Legolas spoke next, lowering himself to a kneel, bowing his head. "I mistook you for Saruman." Gimli followed the Elf's bow, and Alandria did the same in awe.

"I am Saruman." The voice of their old friend was clear now, familiar and no longer laced with the tainted sound of Saruman the Trickster. "Or rather Saruman as he should have been."

"You fell.." Aragorn whispered again, soft, blue-green eyes confused.

"Through fire." Gandalf confirmed. "And water. On the lowest dungeon of the highest peak, I fought him - the Balrog of Morgoth. Until, at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought, and time. The stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life-age of the earth... But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I have been sent back, until my task is done."

"Gandalf." Aragorn sighed, stepping forward with a faint smile.

The Wizard looked confused, staring past the Ranger with wandering thoughts in his eyes. "Gandalf...yes, that is what they used to call me." Aragorn nodded and Alandria felt new tears prick her eyes, not ones of pain, but different ones, of overwhelming joy as the Wizard's confusion turned into a soft smile of recognition. "Gandalf the Grey, that was my name."

"Gandalf!" Gimli echoed, his deep voice choked with his own tears of happiness.

"I am Gandalf the White." The Wizard replied, wise features turning serious once more. "And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide."

Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas were overwhelmed with joy at having their old friend back, and immediately embraced him warmly, each murmuring their welcomes. Alandria, however, held back, uneasy and untrusting. Eventually the others noticed.

"Now lass," Gimli commented. "standin' off to the side is no way to welcome back your friend."

Alandria didn't answer, but her eyes revealed her caution. Gandalf smiled softly, his blue gaze warm and his voice deep and reassuring. "She is worried I am a trick of Saruman's."

"A trick? Pah!" Gimli huffed, but Gandalf ignored him.

"A wise precaution, Master Dwarf," The Wizard's intense gaze fell on the short man for an instant, before turning back to Alandria. "But I assure you my lady, unnecessary. I am surprised you hold such caution, actually, for that was not your way before. Before, you would have welcomed me back with a warm embrace and a smile." The Wizard's weathered face still held a soft grin, but his wise eyes searched hers. _I am sorry for your loss._

"Don't!" She shouted, covering her ears and closing her eyes, stumbling a step away. Her companions looked on in surprise and confusion, not understanding the outburst from the Lady of Rohan to the White Wizard. Alandria opened her eyes after a short moment, and slowly lowered her hands, her breaths shaking. _He cannot be saved__._ "Not like that." She whispered, the memory of a voice in her head burning at the hole in her chest.

Gandalf nodded slowly, knowing gaze studying her intently, as the rest of the group continued to stare on in confusion, but knowing better than to ask. "You have endured a mighty hardship, Lady-Rider of the Rohirrim. I am sorry." She didn't reply other than to turn away, her body trembling with each thick breath. "You all have endured much." The Wizard added, glancing around at the curious faces around him. "But it is not nearly the end. Come, we must leave the forest." At his gesture, the four companions followed him, as he began to stride easily through the dark wood. "One stage of your journey is over, another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed." Alandria could not deny the relief and joy that flooded her veins at the Wizard's words.

"Edoras?" Gimli repeated. "That is no short distance."

"We hear of trouble in Rohan." Aragorn murmured, soft voice barely heard where Alandria stood. "It goes ill with the king."

"Yes, and he will not be easily cured." Gandalf replied.

"Then we have run all this way for nothing." Gimli grumbled. "How dare we leave those poor hobbits here, in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested..." He stopped his grumbling and ranting then as the trees began to groan, grumbling in reply. The Dwarf jumped, holding tight to his axe and watching the forest with wide eyes. "I mean..charming, quite charming, forest!"

Gandalf turned 'round on the Dwarf then, words quick and tone firm. "It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

Alandria merely raised an eyebrow in faint amusement, convinced the Wizard before them was indeed their Gandalf, for she hardly understood a word that he had just said. Aragorn himself smiled softly, speaking her thoughts quietly to the Wizard, "In one thing you have not changed, dear friend: you still speak in riddles." The Wizard and Man grinned, chuckling softly, before Gandalf gazed back into the forest, seriousness and wonder creeping into his voice.

"A thing is about to happen, that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up, and find that they are strong."

"Strong?" The cautious Dwarf echoed. "Oh that's good."

"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf!" The Wizard chided, turning to return back to his quick striding through the forest. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!" Alandria didn't hear if the disgruntled Dwarf replied, for she followed quickly behind the Wizard and Ranger, eager to be on their way to her city.

No more words were exchanged as the Wizard hurried them out of the forest, much to Alandria's relief. Although she had not been worried to go into the mysterious forest, once there, the dense trees and lack of sunlight reminded her too much of the Lothlòrien Woods, and she felt suffocated within minutes. They broke into the clear light of the open Rohan plains and she sighed in relief, before drinking in the warmth and light of the sun, on the golden grasses she had missed so much. Their horses stood tethered to the edges of the trees nearby, and Alandria and Legolas both quickly freed their mounts. Alandria stroked her steed's neck and nose, murmuring to him for a moment before gazing back out at the beauty before her.

She was still enjoying the openness of the tree-less field, when a sharp, musical whistle split the silence. Alandria looked immediately to the White Wizard, and her assumption was correct - it was he, doing the whistling. The sound was high and clear, sounding more like a mystic song than a simple whistle. He finished his beautiful tune, and short, silent seconds later, a loud whinny replied. Alandria turned her head at the glint of white from a hill to her right, and had to blink for a few seconds before her eyes would focus on the image loping smoothly towards them. A tall, strong, brilliantly white stallion approached them with ease, his silver-white coat and mane glistening blindingly. He was beautiful, and in no way real.

"That is one of the _Mearas_." Legolas observed in awe, his voice echoing Alandria's feelings and thoughts. "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

Alandria continued to stare in disbelief as the beautiful horse cantered ever closer, before slowing as it approached the equally-white Wizard. "Shadowfax." Gandalf greeted, with a kind smile at the beautiful beast. The powerful steed came to a stop before the Wizard, snorting and nodding it's head, dark eyes glimmering with intelligence. "He is the lord of all horses. And has been my friend through many dangers."

"He wears no gear." The fair Elf commented, studying the white horse in admiration.

"He will tolerate none, for he needs none. Shadowfax sets the pace, and he knows the direction, whatever it may be."

"It is not possible." Alandria breathed, continuing to stare with fascinated eyes. "I was led to believe such a horse did not exist."

Gandalf continued to smile, whether because he found her disbelief amusing or was just happy she was speaking, none knew. "You are a lady of Rohan, Home of the Horse-lords, and did not believe Shadowfax of the _Mearas_ existed?" He chuckled. "Where else would your country have gotten their fine steeds from?"

Alandria did not heed the teasing tone in her friend's voice, too entranced by the horse before her. "It is like a dream."

"I assure you, my dear lady, this is no dream. And because it is so, we must continue, with all haste. Mount, and we ride for Edoras!" The aged Wizard had surprising energy and strength, leaping upon his powerful horse with ease, even without saddle and bridle.

Alandria and Aragorn mounted as before, as did Legolas and Gimli. Alandria patted Hasufel's thick neck, talking quietly to him, encouraging all speed out of the steed. Gandalf met their gazes, nodded, and with a whistle, his brilliant stallion sprung forward as if loosed from a bow. Alandria quickly nudged her steed on, but the willing gelding needed little encouragement, as he was eager to follow the Lord of Horses, wherever he may go. Once the pounding of hooves against earth hit Alandria's ears, and the brush of rushing wind grazed her face, she finally realized: she was coming home.

* * *

They ran for the rest of the day, and until nearly noon the next day. They stopped far less than Alandria would have expected, but the horses bearing two riders didn't seem to be troubled. When they rested at night, it was for several longer hours than the chasing-trio had been used to, and was greatly appreciated. Alandria still did not sleep well, although better than she had. Being within the borders of her own land, and knowing Merry and Pippin were safe, comforted some of the turmoil in her heart. Yet still, now there was the burden of her King Thèoden being ill, her Prince Thèodred dying, and the finest fighters of all Edoras banished. She ached to continue, with no rest until they got to the Golden Hall, and set all to right. Who knew what troubles were burdened on her Lady Èowyn's shoulders? The Lady had never been weak, no, she was much like her hardened brother. But still, Alandria fretted and worried and it did not help her already weak attempt at sleep.

Somehow, she did drift off, although it was light and uneasy and full of images of battle. So light was it, that the near-silent murmurs of Aragorn and Gandalf woke her, just as the palest dawn crept over the hills. She could not hear them, for all she tried, and eventually she realized she did not care. Whatever they were speaking of was obviously their own concern, and she didn't need more troubles than she already had. So Alandria lay still on the hard ground, silent, and praying for the two leader's to finish their damned conversation so they could be off again, to Edoras. Again, her earlier fears and worries tormented her, and she glanced around silently at the dark campsite, noticing nothing but - not for the first time - the one who was not there. She trembled involuntarily, closing her eyes against the fresh wave of pain as his handsome face filled her mind once more.

Shoulder-length, red-brown hair - like autumn-leaves, she'd always thought; the short, red-gold beard; the broadest smile she'd ever seen, and it warmed her heart, eased her pains - whatever they were, every time; blue-grey eyes with their scattered flecks of pale green, like a faintly cloudy sky, changing from warm to cold, harsh to soft, troubled and concerned to comforting, and everything in-between. The thing that seemed to plague her the most though, whether in her dreams or in waking, was her soldier's voice. It was always there, in the back of her mind, and it drove her mad with agony. The rich, gentle voice, so deep and warm - it echoed in her head and gnawed at the bloodied edges of the hole in her chest. Yet as much as she hated the sound, the voice, she loved it beyond explanation. Never again would she hear his voice, such as never again she would touch him. Paintings or sculptures could easily be done in his memory, but his voice would never come back. He was never coming back. And all because, out of senseless paranoia, she had left him alone. Now she was the one alone. And so she deserved to dwell.

"My lady?" Alandria jumped at the soft voice, so close, and looked up from where she lay, into the pale eyes of Isildur's Heir. "We must mount, and be on our way." She nodded quickly, and scrambled to her feet in haste, quickly flushing out her previous wanderings from her mind.

She picked up the soft, dark, red-brown cloak that she had used as a sort of pillow, and dusted it off tenderly. She still did not like having taken the cloak from the fallen Gondorian Captain-General, but Aragorn had insisted. She reluctantly wore it, but only because she had no other choice - they had abandoned anything that would need carried when they began their chase. So she had draped it carefully over her shoulders, and then covered it with the grey-green cloak of Lòrien, knowing the enchanted Elven cloth would serve her better for disguise than the dark, Gondorian one. She did the same now, having used the Lothlòrien cloak as a blanket during the chill of the night. Her body groaned when she rose and took her first steps, as it had each morning since their chase began. Painful in different places it was today, thanks to their horses. Unhelping, the uneven, rock-littered ground made no sort of comfortable bed at night, especially without a bedroll. But they'd endured so far, and would continue to.

Alandria immediately made her way to Hasufel, stroking his short fur gently and finding peace in his relaxed presence. After a short moment, she grabbed his saddle from off the ground and, after settling the saddle-blanket comfortably upon him, hefted the saddle up. She adjusted it quickly and efficiently, a secret thrill running through her blood with the long-missed, familiar actions. His bridle had stayed on in the night, and she merely slipped the bit in-between his jaws, before pulling herself abroad him with ease. Only then did she pause to look at her other companions, and saw none of them were astride their mounts yet. Gimli huffed around the camp, munching on some _lembas_ noisily, as Legolas prepared Arod and Aragorn and Gandalf spoke quietly still.

The White Wizard looked up at the sound of her steed moving, and smiled slightly. "Eager to be off, Lady Alandria?"

She nodded, patting Hasufel's warm neck. "We want to go home."

The Wizard nodded in return and, apparently finished with his conversation with Aragorn, moved towards his own mount. "And to your home, we go."

"My lady," The Ranger's gentle voice came from beside her again, and Alandria looked down. He held in his hand a small chunk of _lembas_, laid upon a large green leaf. "You should eat."

"I'm not hungry, my lord, but thank you."

He studied her carefully, his soft eyes probing further than she felt comfortable with. "You have hardly eaten since we began the chase. Then, I perhaps understand, as we had little time. But now we ride to your country, and Merry and Pippin are safe..will you not eat?"

"Please Lord Aragorn, I have told you I am not hungry. I will eat later."

"Just this, my lady. It is not much."

"My lord-"

"_Eat it_, my lady." His usually soft, quiet voice grew firm, and Alandria saw the command in his gentle eyes. Hesitantly, she nodded, and took it from him. He would not, however, join her in the saddle until she'd eaten it all. Even though the chunk of Elven bread was indeed not much, it felt like too much all the same and her stomach churned uncomfortably shortly after it'd passed her throat. But Aragorn was satisfied, and settled behind her - much to her discomfort, yet again - smoothly. They were all seated then, and with a nod, Gandalf led them on, to Edoras.


	3. The Golden Hall

**Mostly just a filler-chapter, but it's the only way to keep the story moving lol :) Please be so kind as to review! They help a lot!**

**Cheers!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

Their horses carried them swiftly over the plains, much to Alandria's surprise, for they had only a short night's rest. But the Rohan steeds seemed eager to follow their Lord, and attempt to match his incredible speed. It was not quite mid-day when they stopped less than a league short of Edoras, the city seated on a great hill. Alandria nearly shook with anticipation, the great city covering the immense, grassy hill, protected with it's dark wall. She longed to rush in and see her people again, especially her Lady Èowyn, and to fix the problems she knew had arisen. But Gandalf was cautious.

"Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Thèoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Thèoden is now very strong." He glanced over at Alandria, who's horse was now stamping restlessly, sensing her anxiety. "Prepare yourself my lady, and contain what ever emotions may come the best you can." She nodded firmly and he addressed the entire group once more. "Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here." And he nudged his great steed on, the others following quickly.

Alandria's stomach churned slightly at the Wizard's words, especially his final ones. Rohan used to be a city of warmth and strength, cautious of strangers, yes, but never hostile. Could so much have changed in a matter of months? Could her King really have fallen so far? These thoughts and more troubled her mind as they rode to the gates of Edoras. Her and Aragorn brought up the end of the trio of horses, and Alandria glanced up at the sound of movement in the air. Her leaf-green eyes followed a richly colored flag as it sailed down towards them, before tangling with the ground. The leaping horse on it twisted and writhed, distorted by it's struggle to be released from the grasp of dead grass and sticks, but to no avail. It was fallen, and caught. Alandria hurried Hasufel on, her stomach all the more unsettled.

Their horses slowed to a steady walk as they entered the dull city, and Alandria risked gazing around at the faces before her. All were dark and guarded, silent except for the few scattered whispers as she passed. So they had noticed her missing presence, she noted grimly. The company she rode with earned her no welcome however, much like the White Wizard had said. Instead blank stares and wary, dirtied faces were her greeting. She turned away from the town peoples' frightening images, and looked expectantly towards Meduseld, their destination, at the peak of the grand hill. She did not look in vain either, for her Lady Èowyn stood watching, in all her splendor and beauty. Alandria felt the twinge of a smile, and only urged her horse on more quickly.

"You find more cheer in a grave yard." Gimli muttered, and Alandria glanced at him for a moment, silently agreeing, before turning quickly back to Meduseld. Èowyn was gone.

Their short trip to the top of the high hill and the steps of Meduseld seemed far too long for Alandria, but it took less than half of an hour. They quickly dismounted, and Alandria waited impatiently for the Wizard to lead them on. Her blood was rushing and singing, ecstatic to be back home. Slowly, they made their way up the steps, and she noticed after a moment that Gandalf seemed to be taking far longer to move than he had in the Forest of Fangorn. He leaned on his staff heavily as well. She glanced up, hearing movement ahead of them, and saw several guards approach them from the doors of Meduseld. She recognized the one without his helm as Hàma, but he paid her no heed, watching the Wizard warily. Gandalf smiled, as if relieved, when he saw the men they now faced.

"I can not allow you before Thèoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Grìma Wormtounge." Alandria's skin crawled at the mention of the man. He'd always bothered her, something about his silent stares disturbing beyond explanation.

Gandalf acted surprised, and confused, but nodded to the four at his sides to do as they were told. Aragorn, Legolas, and even reluctant Gimli, all gave up their assortment of weapons, but Alandria hesitated. "I am from Rohan." She told Hàma firmly. "I am friend to Lady Èowyn, sister-daughter of the King Thèoden, and no stranger."

"All travelers must submit their weapons upon entrance to the Golden Hall." The man declared.

"But I am of Rohan! I am no threat!"

"Obey him, Alandria." Gandalf commanded softly. "For now."

Alandria glared at the Wizard, but he only nodded carefully, and she sighed, removing her sword from her belt with a glance at the Ranger beside her. He showed no emotion, merely staring at the guard before him. She didn't waste breath on muttering any curse or insult, and instead handed over her sword, and then knife, glaring all the while.

Gandalf smiled faintly, expectantly, waiting for Hàma to let them through. "Your staff." The guard insisted.

Gandalf glanced at the solid white rod in his hand as if he'd forgotten it. "Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?" The Wise Wizard did his best to look thoroughly old and tired. Hàma didn't look convinced, but sighed and lead them on. Alandria however caught the faint smile of the Wizard, and the wink he flashed at Aragorn, who only smiled faintly. Then Legolas took Gandalf's arm, as if to aid him, and they walked slowly into the Golden Hall.

Alandria immediately noticed the darkness of the once brilliant Hall. No fires were lit, few windows were open, and even then the sky was cloudy. But the worst made her step falter and her eyes widen in disbelief. King Thèoden sat in his throne, and looked far worse than he had when she left. When she parted for Rivendell, he spoke less and softer, and there were a few more lines in his face, and his strength seemed to fading. He simply seemed sick, feverish maybe, seeing as his commands had just begun to grow strange and dark when she left. Alandria saw now that leaving the ones she loved here, as to at Amon Hen, had been nearly as crucial a mistake. Now her king was bent, barely seeming to hold himself upright in his grand throne. His hair was an unruly disarray, and far too light. His beard matched. His face was too thin and had too many lines, appearing much, much too old. The skin was pale and sickly, his clouded and reddened eyes a repulsive contrast. Had the guards not obeyed his 'orders' with such obedience, she would not have believed it was indeed the proud King Thèoden before her. And he was not alone - a black haired, pale-skinned, vile snake was at his side: Grìma Wormtongue. The creature brought a soft snarl to her lips, quickly hushed by Aragorn.

Wormtongue leaned in to whisper some words of treason to her king, but Alandria did not have time to ponder them, for a loud slam echoed behind her. Legolas, Aragorn and her all turned around to discover the doors behind them had been slammed and locked shut, with dirty looking, sour-faced men walking at the sides of the room, following the companions' steps. Wormtongue whispered something in the King's ear again, but Gandalf's loud voice spoke over whatever might have been said.

"The courtesy of your Hall is somewhat lessened of late, Thèoden King."

The Worm murmured to the King again, and Alandria was shocked to hear a weak, dry reply struggle past the poisoned King's lips. "Why..should I welcome you.. Gandalf..Stormcrow?"

He looked to the pale-skinned creature at his side as if in need of approval, and the snake nodded. "A just question, my liege." And then Grìma stood, to face the Wizard and company approaching the throne. "Late, is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell, I name him! Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" Gandalf snapped, much to Alandria's thanks. "Keep your forked tounge behind you teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" At this, he raised the sculpted head of his white staff, to which Grìma immediately backed away from, fear evident on his traitorous features.

"His staff.." The man whispered, backing further away and glancing around, panicked, at the sullen men watching, his words becoming a pathetic moan. "I told you to take the Wizard's staff!"

At his discomfort, the men in the shadows rushed forward, presumably to take the wooden weapon from the aged man. But although the quartet about him was not armed, they had their fists. Alandria eagerly grabbed a man that tried to run past her, and pulled him back to slam her fist into his nose. There was a crunch, and blood began to spill freely, but he knew his job and tried to swing back at her. She ducked, and got two quick jabs into his stomach, before punching the side of his head as he doubled over. He toppled completely, and she quickly spun to deliver a swift kick into a man's ribs, causing him to stumble. As she continued her beatings, thrilled to let out some of the anger she'd felt while chasing after the hobbits, the White Wizard continued to speak, unharmed and unfazed as his friends held off attackers.

"Thèoden, son of Thèngel!" Gandalf spoke, deep voice echoing clearly about them. "Too long have you sat in the shadows.."

Alandria turned after felling her last man, hearing the Dwarf snarl loudly, "I would stay still, if I were you." Her bright eyes glittered with amusement, seeing the snake Grìma cowered beneath the stout man's heavy boot.

"Harken to me!" Gandalf snapped, and all attention turned back to him as he spoke to the poisoned King. "I release you, from the spell.." His words were soft now, and his palm was outstretched to the weak man on the throne. But nothing changed. And the sagging King began to laugh - a despicable sound, dry, broken, and just as ugly as he was.

"You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey." He smiled evilly, his voice changed, deeper and slightly stronger.

But Gandalf seemed unbothered, and tossed off the heavy grey cloak he had worn since they'd started riding. Alandria was not the only one who found the sudden, bright, brilliant white of Gandalf and his new robes difficult to look at in the dark Hall, as many others blinked away their brief blindness in disbelief. But Thèoden, or the thing pretending to be him, flung his body back against his throne, a grimace on his hideous features as if in pain.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" The Wizard declared, and pointed his staff at the King, who was slammed back once more into his throne. Alandria could not help but flinch, seeing the man she knew somewhere was her great King writhe in agony so. She saw a glint of gold and white out of the corner of her eye, just in time to see her beautiful Lady Èowyn rush towards the throne, obviously more pained than Alandria was to see her uncle tortured so. But Aragorn caught her arm before she got far, murmuring softly to her to wait.

"If I go, Thèoden dies!" The monster inside the King declared, his voice more like the traitorous Wizard's, his rotten teeth in a grimace.

Gandalf merely gestured with his staff again, and the furious man on the throne groaned again, further pained. "You did not kill me, you will not kill him."

"Rohan is mine!"

Another slam from the power of the White Wizard's staff. "Be gone!"

The monster in the King groaned and moaned, twisting against the hard wood of the throne. With one last glare, he flung himself with a snarl at the Wizard, only to have his weak attack counter-attacked by the Wizard's power. He fell back against his throne, weaker than before, and groaned meekly, slouching over greatly. Èowyn pulled herself free of Aragorn's grasp and rushed forward to her uncle's side, catching him as he began to fall out of his seat. Alandria followed a few steps forward, but grew suddenly uneasy at possibly being noticed and recognized in such a moment, and held back.

Èowyn held the King further upright, and they all watched in worried dread, as the lord's features slowly changed. Slowly but steadily, the disheveled and unruly hair shortened, becoming it's natural shoulder-length, the beard short and trimmed. The pale color filled with gold, returning to it's previous health. His skin smoothed considerably and fleshed out, coloring warm and human-like once more. His clouded eyes cleared, the redness from them gone. King Thèoden now sat in his throne, held by his niece. Alandria felt the prick of faint tears, her joy unfathomable. She could not hear the whisper he exchanged with his sister-daughter, but she noticed the relief in her Lady's body language. Thèoden then turned his proud gaze to the Wizard who freed him.

"Gandalf?" He asked, his voice soft.

The old Wizard smiled kindly. "Breathe the free air again, my friend."

Thèoden smiled faintly, and then began to struggle to his weak legs. Èowyn helped him eagerly, and soon he was on his feet, gazing at the people surrounding him. Alandria felt the twisted sensation of the need to smile again, and again her mouth didn't cooperate correctly. Instead, she lowered herself willingly to a knee, bowing before her Lord. She heard the others of Rohan follow suit, and then glanced up, wondering if either the Lady or King had recognized her yet. It didn't seem so.

"Dark have been my dreams of late." He murmured, dark blue eyes full of wonder. Then he turned his gaze to his hands, slowly moving them, as if testing the limbs he had not freely used in months.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword." The White Wizard advised, a faint smile on his lips.

At the Wizard's words, Hàma came forward, Herugrim extended towards his King. Thèoden gently touched it with his fingertips, then slowly ran his hand completely around the hilt, grasping it firmly. He slowly, carefully, pulled the blade from it's sheath, and then held it before him, his eyes drinking in the beautiful sight of his sword. The silver metal glinted proudly, the gold around the hilt dark and warm, with the two horse heads curved perfectly, heart-shaped, at the beginning of the blade. The powerful weapon fit perfectly in the King's palm, and Alandria could clearly see the comfort and strength he drew from it. Until, his gaze fell on a lone member dwelling in his Hall, and his eyes darkened with fury.

Wormtongue struggled in Gimli's firm grasp when his lord's furious gaze fell upon him, and Thèoden strode slowly forward. "Get him out." He said quietly, and Hàma, and another Alandria knew vaguely as Gamling, rushed forward to grab the traitorous man. "I want him out!" The King yelled, and strode quickly after his two guards as they drug the squirming snake out the doors of Meduseld. Without needing their lord's command, upon reaching the top of the stone stairs leading down from the Great Hall, the guards flung away the vile man.

Grìma fell with a tousle of robes and thud of flesh against the harsh stones, rolling and floundering until he hit the break of the flights. He landed heavily on his side, crying out in pain, his lip bleeding. Thèoden marched slowly down the stairs after the pale man, his footsteps a possessed stagger as he held his sword tightly. Gandalf followed a safe distance behind, as did a troop of guards. Alandria stood a step behind Legolas, Gimli, and Lady Èowyn - who had yet to notice her - at the top of the stair.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!" Grìma insisted, crawling slowly down the steps, whimpering like beaten beggar.

"Your witch-craft would of had me crawling on all-fours like a beast!" Thèoden snarled, still marching forward.

"Send me not from your sight!" The Worm pleaded, but the King paid him no heed, raising the flashing blade of Herugrim high. Alandria's blood rushed eagerly, full of anger at the wretch before her King, furious for what he had done. But her hopes crashed down as the dark figure of the Ranger from the North rushed forward, to still Thèoden's arm.

"No my lord!" Aragorn yelled. "No my lord!"

Alandria knew her king stared at the Ranger with the same harsh disbelief she felt, wondering why the Valar the dark-haired man had stopped justice being well-served. Aragorn spoke to Thèoden then, but she was too far away to hear, the brisk wind not helping in the least. Whatever the Ranger said seemed to persuade the simmering king to step away, and lower his blade. In turn, Aragorn offered his hand to The Worm, to assist him to his feet. The foul-minded creature merely spat in the man's palm, before scrambling to his feet, pushing his way through gathered villagers as he ran away, to the stables. Aragorn merely shook the saliva off his hand, wiped it on his already filthy trousers, and turned back to Thèoden.

"Hail, Thèoden King!" He yelled, and slowly, the surrounding crowd lowered themselves to their knees, bowing before their lord. Alandria followed suit, no matter how far a distance away she stood, and gazed wonderingly as she saw Aragorn doing the same.

As if unable to grasp all that had exactly happened, Thèoden turned and walked slowly away from the crowd, back up the stairs and towards his Hall. His dark eyes couldn't seem to focus, and they drifted from face to face, briefly taking in each person that neared him. Then they fell on Alandria. She stood tall once his strong gaze met hers, and lifted her chin slightly, hoping she portrayed strength she hardly felt. He studied her for a moment, as if he recognized familiarity, but wasn't sure why. And then his features changed, to a softer and kinder expression than he had shown so far, other than to his neice. A smile even graced his lips, and he stepped towards her, arms outstretched.

"Alandria!" He cried, holding her shoulders firmly, gazing at her still. "It is you, yes? The great daughter of mighty Elrendyn, from the North?" She nodded at his words, faint tears stinging her eyes - but refused to let them spill. "How did I not notice you, standing there all the while? I noted your disappearance, but how long you have been gone...I can't remember..I was told..." His kingly gaze drifted, behind, to where Grìma had fled. Slowly, he looked back at her, a kind smile lighting his face again. "It does not matter. You are here, and safe! Tired, it seems, and you look as if you have been traveling long..but you are more beautiful than I remember. Ah, my girl, it has been so long!" He finally embraced her than, and she hugged him back firmly, the water in her eyes all the more threatening now, but held at bay.

"Indeed it has been." She murmured, then slowly pulled away. A faint, sad smile attempted to curl the edge of her lip. "I have missed you greatly, father-of-my-friend. I am glad you are now well."

"As am I, my girl. As am I." He squeezed her shoulders tightly once more, before turning back to the crowd around them, a smile still on his face.

Alandria started slightly when she felt a hand grasp her own tightly, but turned to see the fair Lady Èowyn at her side. Èowyn was smiling, teeth showing slightly, and then opened her mouth to speak, but paused, with a glance at her uncle. Alandria turned back to her King, and noticed his smile had faded, as he continued to search the faces around him. Slowly, his mouth opened, and his words were soft.

"Where is Theodred?" He asked, and received somber expressions in return. "Where is my son?"

"My lord-" Started Hàma, but Èowyn stepped forward quickly, releasing Alandria's hand.

"Uncle." She interrupted, and took his hands in turn. He turned his saddened gaze slowly down towards her, already knowing what she was going to say. Alandria knew it too. Her heart beats slowed, and there was the faint sound like rushing water in her ears. Theodred was dead, just as Èomer had warned he might be. The Prince used to catch Èowyn and Alandria at their sword play, and would often watch them good-naturedly, or volunteer to help - usually resulting in laughter and jibes amongst them. He was much like his father - kind, good-hearted, and smart. He was several years older than both Alandria and Éowyn, and even Lord Éomer, but cheerful and good-natured with them all. He did his best for his father, and was eager for battles. That he had been wounded, and then perished from one, was no surprise.

"No." Thèoden whispered, staring at his niece. "It cannot be." She nodded, tears in her eyes and pain in her fair features, as her uncle's own dark eyes flooded. "Not my son!" He cried, stepping away. "Not Theodred! Not my son!" Anguish overtook him, and Hàma, Gamling, and Èowyn moved closer to help comfort him. The crowd of villagers quickly dispersed from their places near the steps of the Golden Hall, and left their King to his grief.

"Alandria," Gandalf spoke softly, suddenly at her side. "Go inside with the others." She stared numbly at the Wizard, as if uncomprehending. "I will help Thèoden, and we will have a funeral quickly arranged. You go inside and try to clean up and make yourself a little more comfortable. Just go on, get a change of clothes and a bath." Still, she did not move, not seeing the point in a bath, or fresh clothes, or anything. Theodred was dead. The White Wizard sighed, and turned around, calling, "Legolas, come here my lad." The Elf quickly appeared, awaiting the aged man's orders. "Take her inside, please, and find her a maid if you can. She needs a bath and fresh clothes."

The fair blonde nodded briskly, and gently took Alandria's arm, leading her towards the doors of Meduseld.


	4. Used To Death By Now

**After this chapter, I'll probably be able to make one more update, and then things might slow down for a bit. I'm just about to start at a new job, and come next Monday, a new school and school year. So things might be a little hectic, but I'll do what I can. Again, I'm sorry for the slow-start on this story but please, I encourage you all, help me out by reviewing! Reviews certainly fuel my desire to keep going with the story, and make it better!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

Legolas did his duty quickly, carefully escorting Alandria into the Golden Hall and immediately calling the attention of one of many whispering maids from the side. She looked to be around her late forties, heavy-set, with a weathered face, and she spoke briskly.

"Yes, Master Elf?"

"The lady here needs a bath drawn and to be changed into clean clothes, if that is possible. She has been traveling for manys days without rest and is weary."

"No problem there, sir. I can get all that done real quick like, easy. She not talkin' for herself, sir?"

Legolas glanced at Alandria and her frozen features, before sighing softly as he turned back to the servant-lady. "No ma'am, not quite. She just found out about the Lord Theodred's death, and..." His sky-blue eyes glanced at the woman beside him again, and the maid nodded.

"Aye, understood milord." She stepped forward then, and gently took Alandria's hand. "I got 'er now, thank you. I'll gets her a bath and change a'clothes no problem, and 'ave her returned to you within the hour."

The gentle Elf nodded and bowed slightly, glancing at Alandria once more, before backing away. "Thank you."

The maid nodded to the Elf's retreating form, and then quickly led Alandria down a dark hall, and into a small, tidy room. "Here, milady, sit on down." She encouraged, and pulled out a chair, before gently pushing Alandria into it. "Milady? Milady, it'll be alright. The Lord Theodred's passin' surely ain't easy, but we've all been used to death by now, right? Come on miss, it'll be alright." She patted Alandria's still shoulder, and then leaned out the doorway. "Ay! I need some hot water in 'ere, if one a'ya is done gossipin'! Hot water!"

There were mumbled replies of "Yes ma'am" before she turned back to Alandria.

The Lady-Rider of Rohan had heard the maid's talking, but could not bring herself to bother with an answer. She just couldn't find the strength right then, or the reason. Instead she watched blankly as the bent woman fluttered about the small room, moving a large copper tub to the corner, and then sliding a wooden curtain in front of it. She left the room for but an instant, then returned with a large towel, bar of soap, and bottle of hair-wash. Once all had been set, as if on cue, three young maids entered, each carrying two buckets of water. They carefully poured their buckets into the large tub, and steam rose slowly from it. The maid ushered them out, and then turned back to Alandria.

"Now, milady, let's rid you of that flith!" She helped Alandria to her feet, and led her closer to the tub. She started to un-do the ties on Alandria's tunic, but Alandria stopped her.

"I can do that." She whispered, and untied the strings easily.

The maid nodded, and then stepped away, pulling the curtain to hide the tub from view of the door. "Aye then, milady, I'll wait 'till you're settled."

Alandria didn't reply, but quickly slipped off the thick leather tunic, and then long-sleeved undershirt. She settled carefully on the edge of the tub, and pulled off her boots and long socks, before standing and unlacing her trousers as well. Soon those dropped to the floor with her other pieces of clothing, and she sighed before removing the cloth band around her chest and nether-regions. Her eyes trailed over the fading scars that shone on her arms and ribs, then to the fresher red scratches from Amon Hen. She touched one lightly, her mind reeling a hundred different directions, before pulling away and removing the last of her clothing. She then slipped carefully into the hot water, and couldn't supress the groan that pushed past her lips, revelling in the shockingly perfect warmth.

"Comfortable, milady?" The maid appeared back around the wooden curtain, smiling warmly. Alandria merely nodded, her eyes half-closed. "Here then, let's get you clean!" The maid reached for the bar of soap, but Alandria snatched it quickly first, her green eyes now wide and alert.

"What's your name?" She demanded.

"Lynwen, milady."

"Lynwen, I thank you, but I can wash myself."

"But milady, the Master Elf-"

"He asked you to get me a wash and fresh clothes." Alandria interrupted. "He never said you had to do the washing. I am perfectly capable of that. Thank you."

Lynwen looked ready to argue again, but the dark glint in the traveler's eyes kept her in check. "Aye, milady. As you wish. I'll get you clothes out for wear.." She muttered, and walked slowly away.

Alandria sighed once the older woman had disappeared behind the curtain. She'd never had a maid wash her before - her father was merely a Rider for Thèoden King, she merely a help to kitchen staff and stable boys - and the prospect of it seemed rather unnerving to her. The hot water had cleared her head a bit, and she quickly banished the sorrow for Théodred to deep within her, keeping it far away. Instead she focused on the task at hand, and briskly scrubbed the slightly scented soap over her grimy skin, washing away the blood and dirt that had collected since her last battle. She loosed her hair from it's long braid, and ran a fresh bucket of water that sat by the tub through it, washing it with the hair-soap thoroughly, and then rinsing it out. She tried to clean quickly, although the hot water was a beyond-welcome relief and very tempting, and found herself done in a matter of minutes. Spotting the towel lying only a couple of feet away, she quickly - and nervously - rose, stepped onto the cold, dry floor, and wrapped the soft towel quickly around her.

She rubbed the warm cloth quickly about her, ridding herself of the water, and then stood awkwardly waiting. "Um, Lynwen?" She called softly.

"Yes, milady?" The maid answered almost immediately, and Alandria heard her shuffling towards the curtain.

"I am done."

"Are you?" The maid peeked around the barrier, and then nodded. "Indeed you are. Well then, come 'ere and get yer clothes on." Alandria stepped cautiously around the curtain, towel wrapped firmly about her, and saw a dress lying on the near bed. "Here now, I gots you a fresh breast-band and loin-cloth, and then we'll get you into the shift and then the dress...oh! But I bets you're a tad chilly now, eh? I'll start up the fire, and you get those underclothes on!" The elderly maid chattered kindly as she turned away to light the small fire in the hearth across the tight room, and Alandria quickly picked up the under-garments and slipped them on, pleased to find they fit well.

She was just sliding on the thin dress-shift as Lynwen turned around, a fair blaze started, and then the maid held out the dress. "Here now, let's get you into this!"

"Oh, no no." Alandria took a step back, eyeing the rich brown and red colors, valuable colors she wasn't used to. "I should wear something else."

"Nonsense!" Lynwen chuckled. "Tis just a dress, milady!"

"But the colors.." Alandria mumbled, spotting gold-colored patterns on the shoulders and down the chest. "I don't think you understand - I'm only a Rider's daughter! I help in the stables and-"

"But you are friend of the Lady Èowyn, yes?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"It is she who picked out this dress for you, milady! This is one of her own. She insisted you wear it - for the funeral."

"I don't know..."

"Just put it on, milady, all is well. You have traveled with great company, after all. You deserve a good dress." The maid smiled, and Alandria ceased her resistance, accepting the darkly beautiful dress with a sigh. Lynwen helped her into, and laced it firmly, before gently pushing Alandria into a chair before a small looking-glass. "Now for your hair." Alandria opened her mouth to protest again, but was silenced as the woman immediately covered her head with the already damp towel, and proceeded to rub Alandria's head dizzy, in hopes to dry to her dark mane faster. Once close to done, she removed the towel, and began to draw a fine-toothed comb through the long locks. "Such dark hair milady! How comes you by the color?"

Alandria shrugged a shoulder slightly. "My family and I hail from the North, years ago. Both my parents had dark hair, it would make sense for I to have it as well."

"Aye, it would then. Nearly the color of the night, eh?"

A soft, sad smile shimmered in Alandria's eyes, but could not grace her lips. "Aye. Nearly."

* * *

"Well my lady, I think you's done." Lynwen finally announced, stepping away from the now thoroughly uncomfortable young woman before her. Alandria fidgeted, watching herself warily in the mirror, and smoothed out the dark dress that was still sheathed about her form. Her dark hair was done into several different long braids, and they hung loosely, slung together across her shoulders, woven with strands of red cloth. Alandria thought she looked far too much like an imitation of royalty, and was uncomfortable in the simple splendor. Still, she turned to face the hard-working maid, features relaxed.

"Thank you, Lynwen. You are wonderful."

"Ah, no milady, you just look beautiful is all!" The elderly woman chuckled as Alandria flushed slightly, then shook her head.

"Anyone looks fair enough with the right cloth and pretty things, I think."

"And I think you belong in a good house with a husband, rather than travelin', lookin' like that!" She chuckled again, not noticing the way Alandria stiffened, and patted the girl's hand. "Anyway, on you go. Out on into the Hall - I heard your friends would be waitin' for ya there."

Alandria bowed her head formally. "Thank you again, Lynwen."

"Not a problem, milady. You'll get your old clothes fresh and clean later, I assure you. Now on with you. Say goodbye to the Lord Théodred for me, please."

"Aye, that I will." Allandria nodded, bowed again, and quickly slipped out the door.

She stood against the wooden barrier for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths. _You belong in a good house with a husband..._ She could've had a house with a husband. Could've had something to smile for. Could've had something to keep her head high. But that something was dead, just like everything else was becoming. Alandria shook her head, wincing as the forgotten braids moved dangerously, and sighed shakily. She would not think like that, not right now. Right now there was still death, but also there should be some semblance of joy - she was home, and her King, and Lady, were alive. That at least had to mean something. So she straightened, smoothed the awkward dress, and strode carefully into the wide Hall.

It was nearly empty, save for the low fire burning in the pit at it's center, struggling to keep some warmth in the room. It took a moment for her eyes to pull the figures of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn from the deep shadows, but they stepped into better light once they saw her approaching. Gimli and Legolas had not changed, merely cleaned up a bit, but Aragorn was dressed in a clean, red shirt, and dark brown vest, with fresh brown trousers. The three males waited patiently, each taken aback by the new woman before them. Her skin was cleaner than it had been since Lòrien, her hair clean too and fixed intricately; the dress held her form snugly, the colors dark for the mourning, fitting hauntingly well with her dark hair and light eyes. Still her face held no smile, but rather was weary, and lined faintly with sadness.

"Well I'll be.." Gimli mumured, the first to speak. "You clean up nicely, lass."

Alandria flushed again, and ducked her head in embarrassement, but Legolas smiled softly, bowing slightly. "I trust the maid took good care of you?"

"That she did. Thank you, my lord, and I am sorry for my...previous state. I was-"

"No apologies, my lady." His soft smile was warm as the rising sun, his pale eyes shimmering. "I understand." She nodded again, and then Aragorn stepped forwad, his arm extended.

"Our Dwarf friend does not lie, my lady. You are lovely as the moon-lit night. Please, accept my escort to the funeral grounds?"

Alandria stepped forward and accepted the gesture, her hand resting lightly and nervously on his arm. Her keen ears had not missed his comparison of her to a pale night with moonlight, but she had not the time to contemplate it, as they were already starting out of Meduseld, and down it's steps. "They are already ready? For the funeral?" She asked instead.

The handsome Ranger at her side nodded. "Just, yes." Alandria took a breath then, and followed her small group down to the crowd at the burials.

They were soon there, and Alandria remained beside Aragorn, also next to the Lady Èowyn. Many guards stood around, more for formality than any sort of protection, and after Gandalf said a few deep words, Théodred's body made its way down the aisle created by peoples. Alandria stood straighter once the pale body came into view, images of a different body flashing in her mind; a body with red-brown hair and short beard, blue-grey eyes like a frozen storm. But the punctures in the chest and stomachs were similar, the drained color the same. Both were just bodies. She shook slightly as she restrained tears, and Èowyn clasped her hand tightly, almost painfully.

Alandria glanced over at the cold beauty that was her friend, and her heart ached. Such pain was in the fair Lady's features, who obviously fought to control it. But the sorrow of losing her cousin was too much, and tears made their way down the Lady's pale face. Her breathing shook, and she grasped Alandria's hand tighter as the body of Prince Théodred passed by them. Then she took a deep breath, and her mouth opened in a melancholy song for the fallen man. The Lady-Rider of Rohan flinched, which the Ranger took note of, but the words Èowyn sang were nothing like the ones Alandria had heard only days before. They were in the sharp, beautiful Rohirric Alandria had not heard in ages, and they broke into the mind of every person present. A lone tear finally broke free of her hold, and it's path down her cheek blazed like fire.


	5. What Troubles You

**So tomorrow I start school again - blah! lol and as I said, updates will probably slow down quite a bit. But, as this story seems to start becoming forgotten, it may not be a problem.. Either way, I'll do what I can, and hope those of you still on your summer break enjoy it! :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

They were gathered in the Great Golden Hall - Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Gandalf, the King, Èowyn, and Alandria. Two children sat at a wooden table, a young boy and an even younger girl. They were dirty, weary, and feasting on hot bowls of soup and fresh bread maids had laid down for them. They had appeared shortly after the funeral, while Thèoden and Gandalf still stood at the burial grounds, and had been spotted by the Wizard. They were fetched, as the boy was unconscious from hunger and weariness, and brought before Thèoden King to the Golden Hall. Èowyn tended to them as the King sat in his throne, features strained and face cradled in his palm. Alandria stood against a great wooden pillar, near Aragorn and Gimli who were seated at their own table, and Legolas, who stood himself a short distance away. The White Wizard sat beside the King, his ancient features tired.

"They had no warning." Èowyn told her uncle gently, rising to her feet after checking on the young girl. "They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot, and tree."

"Where is mama?" The little girl pleaded, and Èowyn laid a thick blanket over her shoulders, shushing her softly.

"This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash." Gandalf explained to the gold-haired King, gesturing to the children. "All the more potentry is driven now out of fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head-on, draw him away from your woman and children. You must fight!"

"You have two thousand good men riding North as we speak." The dark-haired Ranger spoke now, pausing the smoking of his pipe. "Èomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now!" Thèoden argued, rising from his throne to stride about the Hall. "Èomer cannot help us."

"All that must be done is a rider sent forth to find them, and they will return with all haste." Alandria countered.

"And who would do that?" Thèoden questioned. "It would take days to find them, and we have not the time! I know what it is you want of me," He turned to Gandalf now. "But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

The Ranger removed his pipe again, blue-green gaze forever gentle but voice strong. "Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not." Alandria glanced at him with a tinge of nervousness, which only further increased as her King turned sharply on the dark-haired man.

"When last I looked," Thèoden started, voice level but gaze hard. "Thèoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan." He said nothing more, and he and the heir of Gondor locked stares, as the tension grew thick in the air. Gimli seemed unaware of the glares exchanged, burping and spilling his beer.

Gandalf stepped forward then, keeping the peace. "Then what is the King's decision?"

Thèoden turned back to face the Wizard, and sighed. "We will evacuate to Helm's Deep. It is an unconquerable fortress, and no enemy has ever broken past it's walls. The people will be safe there."

"Helm's Deep?" Alandria burst, to the surprise of her companions. "Beg your pardon, my lord, but Helm's Deep will not save us now, not against Saruman's armies! His Uruk-hai are not mindless Orcs - they have tactics, and intelligence, and are stronger than most men. The refuge of the Deep will not protect from them for long."

"Then what would you have me do, Alandria? Where else would you have me go? Here we are far more vulnerable than the Deep. Perhaps there, we have a chance."

"But my lord, even the road there is not-"

"Helm's Deep is the decision I have made, Alandria. It would do you well to comply." His dark eyes held hers for a moment, and she finally bowed her head to the command of her king.

"Aye, my lord. Pardon my outburst."

He merely nodded, before turning away and striding back to his throne. "We ready the people at dawn, and leave by midday. Be ready."

* * *

Darkness had finally fallen, and the city had gone to sleep. Those that dwelt in the Golden Hall had long ago retired to their rooms, left alone to their grief. It was the darkest point of the night, silent and still, and the Lady of the Fellowship sat against the wall of Meduseld, alone. Her darkened eyes stared unseeingly out into the vast lands before her, seeing only the faint glitterings of a few scarce torches in the town, and then nothing but the faintest twinkling of stars. The evil, red glow of Mordor was behind her, and for now, dark things did not plague her thoughts. Instead, she leaned her head back against the stone building, and gazed at the sleeping land before her with half-closed eyes..

_"You should be sleeping." He said softly, but a faint smile was on his lips._

_"I am not tired."_

_He had not expected any other answer, and merely continued to smile softly. "You will be, as the days drag on."_

_"We shall see." He didn't reply, and she turned from watching the sleeping forms around the camp, to look at him. The night was dark, few stars showing, but the moon was near and full. It shone upon him eagerly, as if it knew she needed to see his face. It shone on his hair, the bronze mixing with the silver light in a dazzling image. His pale eyes flashed silver and white, before returning to the shadows darkness created. But his smile, which he flaunted now, gleamed brilliant and wide as ever, transforming everything into the most beautiful scene she'd yet seen. His smile dissolved the slight cold that crept upon her, and banished any dark thoughts the presence of the Ring pressed in her mind. She felt light, and relaxed, and almost happy. _

_"Are you alright, my lady?" He asked gently, deep voice breaking her reverie._

_"Fine." She replied simply, turning back to watch the still camp. All slept, even the old grey Wizard, and the Elf - or at least, he appeared to sleep. The man beside her was not fooled by her weak answer, and continued to study her, until the feel of his intense gaze on her face became difficult to bear. "I am fine, my lord." She repeated, forcing her dark green eyes to meet his._

_"Are you?" He asked, watching intently. She shrugged lightly, glancing around the dark camp again. "You seem uneasy."_

_Her gaze fell upon the small sleeping form of the Ring Bearer, and held. "Frodo is tiring. The Ring," She winced at the quiet flood of black whispers that plagued her mind, as if the object knew she had focused on it. "It is growing heavier for him. He is weary, and I worry..." She received no answer for a long moment, and turned to look at the now-silent man at her side. His darkened gaze was focused on the little hobbit, and a stern struggle seemed to waver behind his features. His jaw clenched, his strong face lined with distress, and then with a deep sigh, the look vanished and he turned back to her._

_"Do not be so troubled. Things will look better in the morning." He smiled again, but it was not the normal proud flash of teeth, and it did not reach his darkened eyes. She shifted, uncomfortable for reasons she did not clearly know, and glanced down from the man's dark and handsome features. "Alandria," He murmured, and she jumped as his warm hand engulfed hers, holding it gently. "Things will turn for the better, I am sure. The Halflings are strong, and Frodo will continue to bear the Ring just as bravely as he has done since he left the Shire. It will take much more than what we have endured so far to defeat the Halfling and this quest." He squeezed her hand gently, and she looked up at him once more, to see only a faint smile still lingered on his lips. "Trust me."_

_"I do, my lord." She whispered back, the words surprising to even her own ears. "I do trust you."_

_His strong features relaxed and softened, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he nodded. Silence fell between them for a long moment, and then the soldier sighed softly, carefully raising a hand and brushing his fingertips across her cheek, sending a small shiver across her skin. His calloused touched grazed her hair for but an instant, before he pulled away. "I am sorry." He apologized briskly, but she only smiled gently._

_"I do not mind."_

_He glanced at her uncomfortably, her words unexpected, and then his glimmering eyes roamed over her dark hair and pale features, lightened by the moon. "If it is not out my place, my lady, I would say you look beautiful."_

_Her brow furrowed as she watched him intently, wondering if he had any ale or other drinks she had not seen. Such a blatant compliment was unnatural. "You, ehm, are the Steward's son, my lord. I don't think you can be out of place while addressing me." Her reply was weak, and foolish, but brought another faint smile to his lips._

_"Nevermind, then." He murmured, deep voice rich and warm, soothing. "But you are lovely, your hair nearly the color of the night..and the moonlight a radiant silver hue all about.."_

_"My lord," She started cautiously. "Have you got a drink on hand I haven't seen?"_

_His deep chuckle shook her insides, and he turned away sheepishly. "Nay, I am only a fool. Late nights, empty lands, and darkness can easily twist the mind and tounge. Pardon my words, my lady. Please, pardon."_

_She did not answer, but took his rough hand again in hers, holding it tight. His soft gaze met hers, and he smiled slightly, to have her mirror it. She shifted closer to his warmth, suddenly feeling lonely in the dark of the night. "You are pardoned, my lord." She whispered, and soon found herself laid comfortably against his broad shoulder, his strong arm draped protectively around her waist. She did not wonder or fear the image they made, for comfort seemed-_

Alandria started at a soft rustle of cloth to her right, quickly snatched out of her half-dream, and scrambled swiftly to her feet, blade half-drawn.

"At ease, my lady." A soft voice murmured from the darkness about her. "I merely came when I noticed you were not resting with the rest of us in the Hall."

She relaxed slightly, recognizing the soft words of the Ranger, and re-sheathed her sword tiredly. "I am sorry. I didn't hear you approach."

He was closer now, and she saw the lines of a slight smile on his rugged face. "I am a Ranger. We tend to be quiet."

She nodded, uncaring, and leaned back against the wall. The dark man said nothing, and she made to ignore him, but for an odd smell that came to her. She turned back towards the quiet, dark figure and studied him carefully. "What have you got on you?" She finally demanded, the smell slightly stronger.

He chuckled softly, and she jumped as a nearby torch was lit to life. The red-orange light illuminated the Ranger better now, and the walls and ground about the nearby building. "Here." He held out a small wooden mug, and after a nod of encouragement, she carefully took it. "It is only a tea. I assumed you were out here, in the dark and chill, and being restless myself.." He shrugged, an odd gesture on such a normally formal man, but his soft smile was reassuring.

Alandria glanced at the mug, and the steaming liquid inside of it. "Thank you." She murmured, and he nodded as she raised the sharp-smelling drink to her lips. It tasted much sweeter than it smelt, and was pleasantly warm and soothing. Her head seemed clearer, and her thoughts lightened. She nodded in approval and glanced up at the tall man. "Thank you very much, I feel better."

He smiled gently again, and bowed his head. "I had hoped it would help. The herbs will help you to sleep, and I-"

"I do not want to sleep!" Alandria interrupted with a snarl, and abruptly dropped the warm drink.

Aragorn's features did not show surprise or alarm, he only sighed softly. "You haven't slept properly since we began our chase, do not think I haven't noticed." She didn't answer, just crossed her arms and stared back out at the dark landscape. The Ranger said nothing, watching her carefully. The angle of her jaw was firm, her lips a thin line, her dark brows furrowed, and her dark green gaze simmered. Eventually, slowly, the anger in her strong features gentled, filling with a worry and sadness in turn. She sighed softly, and her emerald gaze swept restlessly across the plains, as her lips moved slightly, silently. "Are you alright my lady?" He asked gently, still studying her.

"I do not know." She surprised him by answering. "I should be. King Théoden is well, Lady Éowyn is well and safe, the snake Gríma is gone, Lord Théodred at peace..."

"What troubles you then?"

Alandria shifted, uncomfortable, before sighing softly as her gaze - which avoided him - grew all the more pained. "Lord Éomer. I do not know him as well as the Lady or perhaps even the King, but knowing he is out there in the midst of all these troubles....I feel I will not see him again..."

Aragorn, Ranger of the North, stepped closer, resting his warm hand gently on her shoulder. "Éomer is strong. His men brave. They will have victories."

"What do you know?" She snapped, suddenly harsh, and pulled away from his touch. "Many a-strong and brave man die in battle every day!"

He gazed at her with sympathy, knowing what she was thinking of. "True, but I do not believe they will. You must have hope, Alandria."

"Do not speak to me of hope! I have seen what good it serves!" Her voice was sharp and final, and with a quick glare at the dark man, she brushed past him harshly, fleeing down the steps of Meduseld, into the dark town.

The Ranger sighed softly as her dark form dashed away in the dark, headed towards the stables. She had hardly slept or eaten in days, she never laughed or even smiled anymore, and always there seemed to be a dark haunt behind her eyes. It was no mystery what tormented her so, but he was beginning to fear it would never let her go. With a shake of his head, the dark man knelt to pick up the dropped mug and turned back to the Golden Hall.

* * *

She burst into the stables, her skin flush with anger. Not at Aragorn, specifically, but at everything. Anger at everything that had gone wrong in less than a week; anger at everything that was still happening; anger at the Uruks that had killed her Prince; anger at the Uruks that would likely kill Èomer soon; anger at her King for not heeding the warnings of both her and the Ranger; anger at herself for ever giving so much to the soldier who fell. Anger at everything. Quickly and sharply, she stomped into the tack room and found the saddle she had not sat upon in months. Not bothering to clean it at the time, she lifted it and it's blanket easily over her arms, snatching her nearby bridle as well. She made her way along the stalls, where tired horses raised their heads and gazed at her in curiosity, until she came to a special one.

Luckily, before the night had fallen, Thèoden had ordered Alandria's horse to be caught and brought in from the paddock, where he had run freely since his return from the empty lands that Alandria had released him to. He was a smart horse, and loyal, as were all Rohan's steeds. Once Alandria had set him loose, before Caradhras, he had steadily made his way back to familiar lands. Once discovered, Riders brought him in, and Èowyn recognized him. Now he had been re-stabled, for Thèoden was sure Alandria would soon put him back to use. Dustling raised his head and peered from his stall at his Rider with wide brown eyes, and snorted as if in greeting.

All the irrational anger that had plagued Alandria slowly dissolved, and she stepped forward, softly crooning, "Hey my boy, my Dustling. I did not expect to see you again so soon! How have you been? Hm? Have you missed me?" He snorted again, hot breath blowing back the waves of dark hair that fell down her shoulders. "I shall take that as a yes." With a faint smile, she set down her tack, and picked up instead a brush she saw lying nearby. She slipped easily into the wooden stall, and the gelding nudged her shoulder with his large head. Still smiling softly, she ran the stiff brush smoothly across his hide. He was well taken care of, as was expected, and did not need much of a brushing - it was more just to ease her mind.

Alandria murmured soft words of nonsense to the strong creature, and then after several long minutes, set the brush away with a sigh. Dustling watched her mildly, curious as to what his lady was now up to. She stepped out from the stall, and then hesitated, her eyes on the sturdy saddle. A saddle seemed unnecessary and bothersome at such an hour in the night - or morning, she was not sure - and she didn't have the strength to bother with it. Instead, she merely picked up the bridle, and eased it around her steed's head. His long face slipped through the headstall easily, and she latched the buckle under his jaw before persuading him to take the metal bit. He did so surprisingly readily, eager to be on a ride, no matter the hour. Alandria smiled at his assertiveness, and opened the stall door to lead him out, before quickly tying off his reins to a side bar. It was perhaps unnecessary, as Dustling would never dare leave, but Alandria had grown too accustomed to caution. And so she ran the brush on his glistening coat once more, before pausing and gazing at her proud steed.

Hewas full and healthy, dark, red-brown coat shining neatly. His ebony mane and tail glistened in the low light of the stable's torches, and the white blaze that ran from high on his forehead, to under his eyes, where it then fanned out to engulf the his entire muzzle, was hued gold.

"You are too handsome, sir." She murmured sweetly, and he breathed heavily on her shoulder in reply. Then he stamped his right foreleg, and pulled gently away from the restraining reins. "Aye, you're right. I woke you for a ride, and a ride you shall get." She gently rubbed his velvet-like nose, before untying the reins, moving to his side, grasping his mane, and with a gentle jump, springing onto his bare back.

Alandria winced for a moment, the ridge of his spine a new discomfort as she had not ridden bareback in ages, but soon adjusted and nudged him slightly with her heels, to where he picked up a brisk trot. She led him find his way out of the stables, and to the gate, where she easily smooth-talked her way past the guards - who knew her well - and then was outside the city of Rohan. Here she reined her steed in, and he stamped, then snorted, impatiently. Alandria patted his warm neck reassuringly, and glanced at the darkened city for but a moment. Again she saw the pale corpse of Thèodred, and the pain of her King and Lady, and the concern deep in the Ranger's pale eyes. Again her mind wandered to the two hobbits that were beyond any sight, surely in deeper danger than any in Rohan, and she wondered briefly if the Ring even still had a Bearer. Again she wondered about the other hobbits that had disappeared into the forest, and wondered when - if - she would see them again. And briefly, her gaze falling to the night-dark, empty lands surrounding her, she wondered where the banished Riders were, and if their gallant Marshal still rode. But then Dustling pulled on his reins, calling her attention back, and she nodded, understanding.

"Aye. We ride till dark thoughts have left us." And then she dug her heels firmly into the steed's tough sides, freeing him to gallop about the dark walls of Edoras.


	6. Very Foolish Move

**This is a shorter chapter than previous ones have been, but I doubt anyone will mind. Again, just another filler chapter...that's what a good portion of the first 1/3 or so of this story will seem like, in case some of you haven't noticed. I'm doing my best though to stick to the story line, while putting my own spin on it... As always, please review to let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

The edges of the gold dawn had barely begun to creep past the hills of Rohan when Alandria arrived back in the stable, Dustling trotting leisurely. She and the horse were slightly winded, the beast with a few damp spots of sweat on his coat, but she no longer felt the burn of anger that had bothered her hours before. She reined him to a stop, and then slid smoothly from his back, before taking him in lead back to his stall. She opened the low door, and slid off his worn bridle, urging him into the small space. He obeyed willingly, and heaved a deep sigh of contentment before dipping his muzzle into the low water trough in the corner. Alandria patted his shoulder, and then backed a step out of the stall.

"Give me a moment to put the tack away, and I'll be back to wash you down, mmk?" Dustling didn't reply, other than to continue his steady slurping. "And a bit of grain too, since you've been such a good boy." His back left hoof stamped and she smiled slightly. She turned then, to take the bridle to the tack room, but was stopped by a lean man that sprung from the shadows beside her. She had not heard or seen him, and dropped the leather halter in her hand in alarm.

His lips were pulled back in a snarl and his pale eyes were hard as stones, glinting angrily. "How _dare_ you just run off like that!" He growled. "Have you no caution at all? Were you so consumed by your own self-pity that you would risk your life?! Were you really so blinded by your irrational anger to just run off?! What if the Enemy had captured you, hm? What then?! They would have tortured you for anything you knew, surely! And could you have withstood that? Could you have withstood them? No." He lowered his voice, taking a breath. "Not even you, my lady, could have held your own out there for long."

Alandria stared up at the furious Ranger in bewilderment, having never heard him so harsh or sharp-tounged. "My lord I..I only went for a ride. I stayed right with the walls, it was safe.. I would have thought you knew I came to the stables.."

"I did not know you were going to ride!" He snapped, till flaming. "I would have stopped you if I had known. I thought you came merely to think!"

"Well I did, lord, but..my mind was just so muddled, I needed a ride. I did not think it would hurt."

"Then you did not think! No matter how close to the walls you remained, Alandria, any Enemy could have come upon you easily, for you are one woman. And today we ride for Helm's Deep - and your horse has already been ridden long. He will be tired. If we have need for haste, can we still count upon him? Or will he lag behind?"

Alandria took a deep breath, fighting to keep her voice calm in the face of the raging man. "Dustling is one of the strongest horses of Rohan. He will not lag. By the time we leave, he will be well ready." She paused, glaring back into the Ranger's cold gaze. "I assure you."

Aragorn stared down at her for a long, silent moment. "Be sure he is. And you yourself, be ready. We have not the time to chase after you!" He took a step away, before pausing and turning to her once more. "Gandalf wishes to speak with us once the sun has risen half over the horizon. We meet in the Hall." And then he turned briskly away, leather boots stamping softly.

Alandria stared after him for a moment in lingering surprise, shocked by his bizarre outburst. With a shake of her head, she reached down to pick up the fallen bridle - only to find it was already held out to her by a slender hand. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and took the offered piece of tack. "Why is it that I have heard none of my visitors approach so far today?"

Legolas smiled faintly. "Because so far, you've only been approached by those that do not wish to be heard."

"Hm. Well I hope it stops soon, as it's rather unnerving. Especially when _that_ happens." She inclined her head towards Aragorn's retreating figure.

The Elf-prince sighed softly, and watched the Ranger for a moment before turning to her with kind, pale blue eyes. "He is only worried about you."

"Worried about me?" She snorted slightly, to brush off the words, and started towards the tack area. "For what reasons?"

"The same reasons we're all worried." He replied simply, and she glanced at him, to see his fair features studying her carefully.

"Well there's no reason to worry about me." She answered, and returned the bridle to it's hook. She found a cloth and bucket, and made to fill the bucket with water from a trough, but the Elf stopped her. He motioned for her to wait a moment, then disappeared. Quickly, he returned with a young stable boy, who then stepped forward.

"I can clean up your horse, miss." The boy offered, but Alandria was hesitant. "No worries miss, I know what I'm doin'."

"You sure?" The boy nodded firmly. "Alright then. The bay with a white face, two stalls on the left." She instructed, and he nodded again.

"Do you want me to let him out afterwards?"

Alandria paused, thinking for a moment, before shaking her head. "No, for we may be calling on him again soon. Leave him in."

"Yes miss." And with that, the boy scampered off.

"Now, will you talk to me?" Legolas asked, once the boy was surely out of hearing.

Alandria cocked her eyebrow again, and made her way leisurely out of the stables, into the rising sunlight. "Talk to you about what? Aragorn's pointless worries? I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"I do not think his worries are pointless, my lady. You indeed have not been yourself since The Battle." He paused, as if expecting Alandria to answer, but she refused to reply and so he went on. "You are not hardly sleeping or eating, and there seems to be no cheer left in you. Even now, this is the most I have heard you say in days. I understand you have returned to your home only to find your Prince dead, your Riders banished, and your Hall going to ruin, but still - I feel a shadow lying over you, and it is not weakening."

"The purpose of this speech, my lord?" She asked curtly, the relief her ride had given her quickly dissolving.

"You should pardon Aragorn's sudden temper, for as I said, he is worried. Although he has not said it, I know he feels in part guilty of what happened at Amon Hen, and your actions only increase his guilt. When we found you gone this morning, and the guards at the gate said you had ridden off hours before, he nigh charged out the gates himself to look for you. And he would have, if Gandalf hadn't stopped him. Even then he brooded continually about where you might have gone and what terrors might have befallen you. When you returned, the only emotion he found he hadn't used was anger, and it released itself." Here the beautiful immortal finally paused, clear eyes still watching her, soft and sad. "Do not hold it against him."

"I never would." She answered softly, slightly taken aback by all the normally-quiet Elf had said. "I thank you for explaining, and I...I am sorry, for causing such worry and discomfort. I cannot explain. But, um, I think now I would like to clean up, before we meet with Gandalf." She began to edge away, uneasy and fearing the Elf would try to have her explain her lack of sleep and other such 'problems'. "I shall see you later...good-day, my lord." And she turned hastily away, ashamed and uncomfortable. The blonde man just watched her retreat, fair features showing only the faintest tint of sadness.

* * *

By the time the sun had risen half over the horizon, Alandria had just finished another soothing bath and was back into her old travel clothes: brown breeches, dark green undershirt, tan leather tunic, leather van-braces, and the light, sturdy, grey-brown boots and gloves of Lòrien. The red-brown, fur-lined cloak of Boromir she cast about her shoulders again, and although it still felt odd to wear, it slowly was becoming more at home across her back. Her chest-length dark hair still remained loose, as she had grown weary of it pulled back into it's long braid over the months, and fell in near-black waves over her shoulders. She was offered a breakfast, but obliged only to a half-loaf of bread, and ate it quickly before making her way into the Golden Hall, strapping her sword onto her hip.

"Good morning, lass!" Gimli rumbled, already in the Hall, Aragorn and Legolas at his side. "I hear you had a restless night!"

Alandria nodded. "Aye, I could not sleep and my mind troubled me. So I went for a ride."

"A very foolish move, if I may be so bold." The deep voice of the Wizard interrupted, and he strode forth from some unseen direction. "But I trust our Strider took care of that lesson." He smiled faintly at Aragorn, then gestured to the rest of them. "Come along now, follow me." They four followed the old Wizard out of Meduseld, and through the city that was now thick with villagers, packing and readying themselves for the journey.

"Helm's Deep!" Grumbled Gimli. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! Who will defend them if not their king?"

"He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people." Aragorn argued gently, as the White Wizard led them into the stables. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past."

"There is no way out of that ravine. Thèoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he is leading them to safety. What he will get, is a massacre." The Wizard signed to Alandria then to back away, and halt. She obeyed, and only then noticed that Gimli and Legolas had stopped following the man and Wizard shortly after they entered the stables, whereas she'd continued to follow. Now their aged leader spoke quietly and quickly with the Ranger, who nodded in reply. "Alandria, come forth."

The dark-haired Ranger backed away, and took Alandria's place a short distance away from the White Wizard and the brilliant steed he stood beside. She then stepped towards the old man. "Yes, Gandalf?"

"Do not lose faith in your people Alandria, or the choices of your King. He is wise, as you know, and will do his best to ensure the people's survival."

"Aye, Gandalf, I do know that. I will question King Thèoden no further."

"That is good. I must encourage you also - heed the worries and words of your friends, my lady. You cannot stand alone in these times. And now, only your friends can help you on. Not only of the remainders of the Fellowship do I speak, but all you may find. You will need each of them, before the end." She nodded, not completely clear on his point, but agreeing nonetheless. "Good. Very good. Now, I must leave."

"Gandalf, sir," She started, opening the wide stall door for him as he mounted. "I fear I don't know where you are going."

He smiled grimly, nodding. "Indeed you don't. Have no worries however, I will be back, and hopefully not alone. At first light on the fifth day, at dawn, look to the east." Alandria nodded, and quickly jumped back, as the brilliant beauty Shadowfax leapt swiftly forward, bearing his White Rider quickly out of the stables, and to the golden plains of Rohan.


	7. Tell Me Your Story

**I'm really not sure if I like this chapter or not..it just felt odd when I was writing it, if that makes sense. I hope it goes alright. Also - I like to keep the story I'm writing on my computer a few chapters ahead of what I'm posting, and right now I've hit a bit of a block. And I certainly know that when you _force_ yourself to keep writing, it's not often very good. So please forgive any 'questionable' chapters that may arise lol.**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

The city of Edoras packed quickly and effeciently, and was on the brink of ready before the sun was far in the sky. Alandria had helped with the readying of several families, and had returned to Meduseld to check the rooms and be sure all knew they were to leave soon. Most of the chambers were empty of people, save a few, and they were near ready. She nodded to herself, and gently played with the hilt of her sword as she strode, until she heard voices in the Golden Hall. A few servants scuttled about, finishing packing chests of clothes, but they spoke little, if at all. The sharp clang of metal-on-metal caused her jump, and her skin pricked with caution. She trode softly to the edge of the Hall, and watched warily from the shadows. Her caution was not needed, and she released the tight grip on her sword as her eyes fell upon her Lady Èowyn and the Lord Aragorn. They stood before each other, Èowyn stiff and with a sword drawn, Aragorn relaxed with his long Elvish knife out. The clash had been their weapons together, but it had not been in battle, for now the man relaxed even more, and sheathed his weapon.

Alandria could not catch the soft words exchanged between the two, and as the Lady's back was to her she could interpret little of the mood. Aragorn seemed at ease however, and merely interested, perhaps slightly confused - and sad. A faint sorrow shimmered in his eyes, but with a bow, he then turned and left the golden-haired lady to herself. Alandria now stepped forward, loudly so as to convince her Lady she was only now approaching.

Èowyn turned in surprise, blue eyes wide, but then smiled grandly upon seeing her friend. "Alandria! I am so glad to see you! For all the hours you have been here, I fear we've hardly spoken. And there is so much to say!"

"Aye, my lady." Alandria replied politely. "Much indeed. But we have the long road to Helm's Deep before us, and much talking will be used then. Let us be ready for now, and go gather to set out."

"You are right. I am done here, only storing weapons."

"We are bringing these?" Alandria gazed down at the chest of clothing and weapons in surprise. "It will be much too heavy, and take too long."

"Nay, we are not bringing them. Merely storing them away, for...when we return." She paused, then added quietly with a long look at a sword. "If we return."

"My lady," Alandria started softly, her hand resting on her friend's arm. "We will return, do not doubt. It will take more than Isengard to defeat the people of Rohan."

Èowyn smiled softly, looking back up at her friend, and nodded. "I hope so."

"As do I. Now come, let us retrieve our horses and meet outside the gate, such as your uncle has instructed. Last I saw, few villagers had still to pack. They should be done by now, and we can be on our way." The neice of the king nodded and obeyed, and together the Women of Rohan left Meduseld for what they knew could likely be the last time.

They went to the stables, where Alandria found Dustling already sadled, bridled, and ready - thanks to the commands of Aragorn. Èowyn did not have her own horse to take, and instead was to help any villagers with their belongings and steeds. Alandria mounted smoothly, and Dustling walked slowly with the Lady Èowyn, until they came to the gates. There waited Thèoden, Hàma, Gamling, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, all on their horses and éoden nodded at the two women when they arrived, and then paced his horse before the long, long line of people behind him.

"My people of Rohan!" He yelled, voice carrying in the wind. "We leave today for safety, but not for defeat! We will return! Do not be frightened, for it will be many more days before the People of the West Plains are diminished! Today we leave for Helm's Deep, but we will not end there! Have faith, we will return!" He then turned his horse, Snowmane, and nudged him into a quick trot to lead the journey to Helm's Deep. He was flanked by his guards and Aragorn, then Legolas and Gimli took up behind. Alandria stayed with her Lady, dismounting Dustling and walking together with her. They had scarcely made it half a mile from the gates of Edoras, the horses slowed to a walk, and Èowyn turned to Alandria.

"Now, will you tell me your story?"

Alandria cocked an eyebrow and a faint smiled passed the edge of her mouth, before quickly fading, and it might not have been there at all. "You're urgent."

"And why shouldn't I be? You are my friend, and you vanished for months, telling only me that you were leaving on an urgent errand, and going west. That's all I knew, Alandria! And then your horse shows up, without you! I think I've earned an explanation."

Alandria nodded somberly, although the Lady's words were light, they were true. "Aye, you are right. But it is a long tale, Èowyn, and I am not sure what is my place to say.." She trailed off, and her eyes strayed to where the three remnants of the Fellowship rode.

Èowyn's gaze followed, and she nodded in understanding. "Then tell what you feel can be told."

"It is long, but I will try to make it briefer." Alandria sighed, glancing at her friend, who waited patiently, and carefully began. "I was summoned by Gandalf summer of last year. He told me that in Rivendell, or Imladris, haven of the Elves, there was to be a Council to decide the fate of Middle-earth. He told me I would be needed there, and although I did not know what he meant, I went anyway. In the utmost secrecy, as he had asked. His call to me had been late, and the travel of even a single Rider across the Gap of Rohan and hidden from Isengard is difficult, so I arrived late as well. But in time for the Council. There were Men, Dwarves, Elves, Gandalf, and then a hobbit."

"A hobbit?" Èowyn interrupted, the word unknown to her.

"_Hobytla."_ Alandria explained in the Rohirric tounge. "Little People, from the West. I had seen a few and heard of them when we lived North, but that was over ten years ago. It was indeed a hobbit though. He is the one this story is based around. He has-" She stopped then, watching Aragorn and his company. She was unsure whether to tell about the Ring, but then remembered Legolas' gift of hearing. Surely he knew what her and the Lady were saying, and if he felt it was dangerous ground, he would stop her. So she took a breath, and continued, leaning closer to Èowyn and lowering her voice nonetheless. "You have heard of the Dark Lord's quest, yes? Other than to kill and destroy anything good." Her lip curled in disgust, but Èowyn nodded slowly.

"Aye, I've heard he seeks for a..jewel, of sorts. A ring, some say. One of the Rings of Old, from ages ago."

Alandria nodded. "_The_ Ring, my lady. That is what the hobbit had."

Èowyn's dark blue eyes widened, bold against her porcelain skin. "The Ring? How is that possible?"

"I am not sure. Inherited, of sorts, I think. But back to the story - the _hobytla_, Frodo, chose to go on a...misson, or quest," Her heart ached at the memory of Pippin's cheerful words of "_misson..quest...thing_", before it all began. "to destroy the Ring, in the Mountain of Fire. Elrond, the lord of Rivendell, commanded that he would need a company to help him on this quest. Gandalf stepped forward of course, and then the Lord Aragorn," She nodded up at the dark-haired man and her Lady looked as well, her blue eyes shining upon him. "Then Legolas, the Elf, and Gimli the Dwarf. Then there was Boromir, of Gondor-"

"Boromir!" Alandria balked in surprise at the recognition in her Lady's cry. "So that is where he was headed? All he told us was that he could not say much, and was pressed for time, but we would surely hear of it later. Rivendell was his destination?"

"My lady," Alandria started slowly, watching her friend warily. "What are you talking about?"

"Not even a week after you left, Alandria, Boromir, son of Denethor, arrived at Edoras. He had been traveling from Minas Tirith, and asked for one of our horses to bear him on his journey. As I said, he would not tell where, but we did not press him. Alas, it is grand news to hear he arrived at the Elf-city safely! But," Èowyn paused, only now studying Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, then turning carefully back to her dark-haired friend. "He is not with your company. He did not.."

"In time." Alandria murmured, and much to her Lady's confusion, her green gaze fell to the ground before her feet, and her features became even more somber than they had been. "But yes, the soldier joined us, and then I. Then three more of the hobbits appeared, and each also joined. We were the Fellowship then, as Lord Elrond named us. Eventually we set out, and travelled for leagues upon leagues for weeks, testing even the great mountain Caradhras and it's fury. But we were forced to go underground, through the Mines of Moria."

"Moria!" Èowyn exclaimed, for the mines were known even in Rohan.

"Aye, Moria. Many dangers we fought and passed in there, but now is not the time to name them. Until, in the end, we lost Gandalf."

Now Èowyn's brows furrowed, and she shook her head in confusion. "Lost him? But I have just seen him!"

"No my friend, you saw Gandalf the White. We lost Gandalf the Grey."

The Lady's eyes widened again, and she shook her head. "It does not seem possible."

"No, it doesn't, and I wouldn't have thought it possible had we not met Gandalf the White only a small number of days ago. But then we all thought we had lost him. The hobbits were the worst off, for he often visited their country and was close friends with them all. But we continued, into the Woods of Lothlòrien. Now do not be quick to judge or heed the rumors," Alandria added quickly. "For it is not the evil place you have heard. Guarded, yes, and dangerous to things evil, but not to innocents. We entered, although not easily with the burden of the Ring, but eventually we were brought before the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel." Alandria sighed, her mind flooded with memories. "They were both beautiful, and powerful, but especially the Lady. She was beautiful and wise and terrible and wonderful, all at once. I can not explain, but ask any and they will tell you the same. Gimli grew to love her though, I think." The corner of her mouth turned slightly, remembering. "And...we stayed for a bit, to rest and be safe if only for a while...it was beautiful, Lòrien, although the trees soon grew suffocating..." Her sentences trailed, and faded, as she fought to avoid the subject she dared not think about. "Until came the time to leave. The Elves gave us three strong boats, light and sturdy, and bid us farewell down Anduin the Great. Many days we travelled the river, until coming to Amon Hen, near the Falls of Rauros." There Alandria paused, and said nothing more for a long moment, her eyes cast on the ground.

"Alandria?" Èowyn encouraged softly, watching her friend carefully. "Are you alright?"

The Woman of the Fellowship nodded slowly, although her being ached to say no, the truth. But that would only lead to pain. "Yes, sorry." She glanced up at her Lady, meeting worried blue eyes, and struggled to smile, but only suceeded in grimacing. "We made camp, to rest for a while, until we could cross the river. Then..." Her words trailed again, and she fought to keep down the images of battle, sighing shakily. As she continued, her voice became quieter, and rougher, choked from the memories. "We were attacked. Frodo had disappeared, along with Boromir. Aragorn went to find them, and then us that were left were attacked. We hid the other hobbits, Legolas, Gimli and I, and then fought our way to Aragorn. He was fine, but then we..we heard a horn's call." The baying echoes of the horn rung through her mind again. "It was Boromir, he was calling for aid. We rushed to him, we did, but we..we got there and...he was..there were arrows in him. Two arrows. He might have lived, should have lived, but..." Alandria couldn't finish the thought, and clasped her hand over her mouth, holding the weak sobs silent. Her eyes burned with tears, but she fought to hold them in.

Èowyn watched her friend in shock and horror, not having expected such anguish in the woman's features. "Alandria," She murmured gently, resting her hand on her friend's shoulder.

Alandria shook her head and pulled slightly away, before removing her hand and struggling for a breath to continue. "Aragorn and the others laid him in one of the Elven boats, and with his armor cast him down the river, where the Falls of Rauros took him."

The neice of Thèoden felt her own pain, hearing such news. "He fell?" She whispered, but did not need Alandria to reply. "He was a strong man, I would never have thought...such evil! Madness and evil, to slay the Steward's Son!" She shook her head in disbelief.

"From there," Alandria began again. "The four of us that were left-"

"Four? The hobbits did not fall too?" Èowyn cried, but Alandria shook her head.

"No, no, pardon but I forgot to tell of them. The Ring Bearer, Frodo, and his loyal Sam took their own boat and began their separate way from us, continuing the journey on their own. The other two, Merry and Pippin, were taken by the Uruk-hai. Boromir fell to protect them. And so the four of us began a chase, to follow Merry and Pippin and save them from whatever death or torture at the hands of Saruman they were headed to. We ran after them for three days before we finally came to the Plains. And shortly after that, your brother and his èored came upon us."

"Éomer?" The Lady's features brightened at her brother's name.

"Yes. We spoke briefly with him, enough to learn he had been banished," Alandria shook her head. "And then they told us they had slaughtered the Uruks we were after, the night before. They had not seen our friends. So we went to where the corpses lay burning, and after grieving for those more we thought we'd lost, Aragorn found a track. He led us to follow the hobbits tracks into the Entwood, and from there we met Gandalf. He then led us finally home, to Edoras, and the rest..you know." Alandria finished with a faint shrug, and Éowyn walked in deep thought.

"I am sure you have left much out," She said after a long moment. "But even what you have told me is far more than I imagined. I had not dreamed when you left those months ago you would come upon such a journey as this! I am sorry, my friend, for all your perils and pains. It is beyond any that could be expected."

Alandria did not reply, other than to nod weakly, and then sigh. "I am so weary of walking, or running. If you would excuse me, my lady, I would like to ride. I think I shall go discuss further plans for when we reach Helm's Deep with Aragorn, if that is alright with you."

"Oh, go ahead my friend. I do not mind."

Alandria bowed her head in thanks, and then quickly mounted her eager Dustling. She trotted up to the Ranger, and Éowyn watched her friend's sudden retreat in curiosity.

They had come to a rest at the end of the long and weary day, and many were quietly settling amongst the collection of horses and carts. Alandria sat on the ground near her steed, leaning back against the saddle and blanket she had removed from him. She watched the golden-red blaze of the sunset, her mind still swarming with the thoughts from her story to Éowyn. She wished she could have controlled herself better, and even more so that the foolish feelings would just leave her. It was maddening, the memories and the pain. She wanted to just be rid of it all. But that was not happening, and still her thoughts were plagued.

Then she turned her attention to the people around her, watching them all with mild interest. Two figures a short distance away soon caught her attention, however. It was the dark Ranger, and her golden-haired Lady, glowing radiant in the sunset. They spoke shortly, and then Éowyn turned away. Alandria watched with what amusement she could muster, as Aragorn dared to pour out the bowl of stew the Lady had given him, just as she turned back around. He spilt the hot food on himself, and Alandria was close enough to see his wince, but not hear the words. His gaze was polite and gentle with the Lady, as it nearly always was. Éowyn then turned around and gestured to Alandria, who turned away at once. She waited a few short seconds, before glancing carefully back. The focus was no longer on her, but Aragorn was nodding, his handsome features pained slightly, and sad. He murmured a few more words to the Lady Éowyn, and then bowed his head as she turned, and started towards Alandria.

"Alandria!" She called, voice strong as always. "I have some stew, if you would like."

Alandria shook her head, not only in the knowledge of what the stew likely tasted like from Aragorn's example, but also because she was simply not hungry. "No, thank you my lady. I am not hungry."

"Oh. Alright. Can I sit by you then?"

"Of course." Alandria adjusted and sat up straighter as the Lady lowered herself carefully beside her friend.

Silence fell between them for many moments, not awkward but unwelcome. Dustling huffed and stamped behind them, before his grinding on grass was the only sound around them. Finally Éowyn sighed softly, and pushed the steaming pot of stew away. Her warm hand wound into Alandria's, grasping gently but firmly. "Why did you not tell me?" She asked, and Alandria looked over in confusion.

"Tell you what, my lady?"

"Your story." Éowyn explained. "You did not tell me you loved him."

Alandria paused, willing herself not to glance to where Aragorn sat. "Pardon? Loved who?"

"Alandria, my friend, please. Do not play games. Lord Aragorn, I have spoken with him." Alandria didn't answer. "He tells me that, although neither of you ever declared it or let it be clearly known, you and the Lord Boromir loved each other. And then you lost him."

Alandria pulled her hand from her Lady's comforting grasp, holding it to herself protectively. "The Ranger does not know everything." She replied simply, but she was shaken, and it was obvious.

Éowyn's gentle blue eyes softened even more, and she was pained to see her friend trying to hide such obvious anguish. "I do not know why you are trying to hide it, your love. Perhaps because it hurts too much, or maybe because you are ashamed. But you should not be ashamed, Alandria. Boromir son of Denethor was a noble man, strong and bold and loyal and much more. It is understood."

But Alandria was shaking her head, unwanted tears stinging her eyes. "It should never have happened."

"You cannot prevent from loving someone."

"But I might have prevented his dying. Did you ask your Lord Aragorn about that? Yes, I loved Boromir. I loved him more than I have ever loved a person before. And then Aragorn let him die." Her voice was thick, and she took a shuddering breath before shaking her head, back-tracking on her words. "No, no Aragorn did not do it. He is wrongly accused. I should never have left the soldier. I should have trusted him...No." Alandria pulled further away from her friend, and stumbled to her feet. "I am sorry. Please, excuse me."

Alandria strode away then, to a hill several meters away, and stood by herself, staring into the sunset. Éowyn watched her grieving friend in silence, confused and worried from all that Aragorn had told her - of Alandria's lack of food and rest and cheer - but not having the heart to bother the other woman anymore. Instead, she stood herself, and picked up the pot of stew to deliver to the rest of the camp.


	8. What Do I Hope For?

**Sorry about such a delay in updating! My laptop went screwy, and I'm working on getting it fixed..luckily though, right before it went down, I sent the story to myself and have it on another computer. But it's been a couple of hectic weeks and such, and I've barely had the time to hold still, let alone bother with updating. But I'm back for now :) Hope this chapter is satisfying enough! As always, please, please read & review!**

**Cheers!**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

Travel began again early the next day, but felt too slow for Alandria. Still, something inside told her their journey to Helm's Deep was not wise. True, it had for years protected the people of Rohan from whatever horrors befell them, but that was before the darkness stretched and Saruman created vile new creatures. Now, she was not sure it could withstand such an assault as the Wizard was bound to deliver. On they continued though, and they indeed were nearing the refuge. She sat atop Dustling again, as he walked slowly several steps behind Aragorn's horse, Hasufel. She tried not to focus on the conversation her Lady Éowyn was having with the dark Ranger, and although it interested her, luckily the man spoke too softly to be clearly heard. The golden-haired Lady asked about the woman that gave Aragorn the silver pendant he wore about his neck, and Alandria looked away, knowing the answer. She had not been blind to the glances and smiles Éowyn showered the Ranger of the North with, but they made her uneasy. Éowyn may not yet know of the beautiful Elven enchantress that held the man's heart, but Alandria did. And she feared for what would happen when Éowyn came to learn that her hopes could never be.

Her silent musings were halted then, as Háma and Gamling trotted briskly past. Once clear of the group of people, they spurred their mounts into gentle lopes, climbing up the valley ahead. Alandria then saw the blonde Elf a distance away, perched atop a high hill and surveying the land with his sharp eyes. His posture was stiff, his bow in hand. The two Riders had disappeared, gone to scout ahead. But the cry of a horse's whinny met Alandria's ears, and she moved Dustling out of the group of travelers.

"Aragorn." She called, and he turned his attention to her. "Something's wrong."

She had hardly spoken, and Legolas called the Ranger up to his lookout. Aragorn glanced at Alandria, then dropped Hasufel's reins and ran to where the Elf had stood. The immortal had disappeared, but Aragorn stood with his back to the group, watching something ahead of him. More neighs reached Alandria's ears, and she thought she heard a throaty growl. Fear tainted her blood, but she waited a moment more. Aragorn turned then, and dashed back towards the group quickly, nearly stumbling in his haste.

Théoden rode his horse forward to meet the dark haired man, calling, "What is it? What do you see?"

"Wargs!" The Ranger cried, confirming Alandria's fear. "We're under attack!" People began screaming, panicking, knowing they could not defend themselves against such an onslaught of the monsters. Alandria turned Dustling in circles, as he was restless in the screams.

"All Riders to the head of the column!" Théoden cried, and Alandria urged her horse forward. She stopped though, as the King sat on Snowmane before her. "No, Alandria, not you."

"But I can fight!"

"Not now, you must help Éowyn lead the people to Helm's Deep."

"You cannot ask me to stay here!"

"I am not asking, Alandria, I am ordering." His eyes were dark, his face stern. "Lead the people to the refuge, we will return." With that, he nodded, and turned his horse towards Éowyn, who stood but a few feet away.

Alandria hesitated, and caught the gaze of Aragorn. He seemed to know what she had been told, and although his features were sympathetic, he did not console her. Instead, he mounted, Hasufel already moving. Alandria muttered a weak curse, before nudging Dustling towards the chaotic swarm of villagers. "Keep together!" She yelled, and they flocked from her steed like sheep, moving in the direction Éowyn was leading. Alandria cantered quickly to where the Lady was hurrying people along, and stopped beside her. "I will keep those in the back moving, and together. You lead them." Éowyn nodded, and the Lady-Rider turned her mount back to the straggling followers, hearing the faint yelps and howls of the attacking wolves. The people were running, slowly, but they were moving nonetheless. Alandria had little to do at the immediate moment, and faced the direction the Riders had taken, Dustling prancing nervously. He could hear the snarls and yells of battle better than she could, and was uneasy with it so near. "Not yet," She murmured, patting his firm neck and urging him into a steady canter, rounding the people. "We do not fight yet."

Soon the sounds of wolves snarling and horses whinnying faded, and the people being herded to safety slowed. Alandria could not find the same ease they had, but trotted busily back and forth at the rear of the large group instead. Few needed her encouragement to keep moving, or stay close together, and her duty was dull. Continually she glanced behind them, thinking she heard the neigh of a horse or even sometimes the growl of a Warg, but there was nothing. With her own growl of disapproval, Alandria spurred Dustling into a lope, quickly coming to the head of the travelers. She found Éowyn quickly, and slowed to a walk beside her.

"You are restless." The Lady noted, smiling slightly.

"I do not like being left out of the battle." Alandria replied sharply, no amusement in her features as she looked back once more. "There were many wolves..."

Éowyn sobered as well, glancing behind herself as well. "But they are strong men. They will win."

"Nonetheless, I should have liked to be there with them. I do not feel comfortable knowing Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn are in a battle without me there." She shifted uncomfortably, hard features troubled. "They are all valiant fighters, and the best I've seen of their kindred, but I do not feel right, leaving them."

"You are very close with them, aren't you?" Éowyn asked gently, but not needing an answer. "But do not worry - as you said, they are skilled fighters. As are the Riders. They will return. You did not leave them, either. You were ordered to leave, by your King, and could not refuse no matter how badly you longed to fight." Her voice changed with the latter of her speech, and Alandria glanced at her in curiosity. The pale Lady stared ahead now, walking steadily, and her head was held high, her blue eyes glinting.

Alandria sighed softly, understanding. "You could not have fought, my lady. None would have let you risk it."

"I know," Éowyn replied quietly. "I just wish I was not always left behind. You at least were chosen to go on your great journey with the Fellowship, to have adventures, and battles, and be a warrior. I stayed here, and looked after my sick uncle and watched the town fall into Gríma's hold. It is not the life I want."

"Someday, my lady, you will have a battle to be part of, I know it. And you will be one of the bravest and strongest there."

Éowyn looked up at her friend's words, and smiled slightly, although Alandria returned no more than a slight curl of her lip. "Thank you, Alandria. I hope so."

"Trust me, my lady, you will."

Their conversation was stopped then as cries of "Helm's Deep!" and such interrupted them. The two women looked ahead then, and saw the great stone refuge of Helm's Deep laid in the valley before them. It's back was to the cliffs and mountain, a great wall spread from the left of it across the Deep, and a sloping road leading up to it's gates. The stones were old, grey and worn, but strong beyond measure. The walls of the fortress had yet to be breached, and that thought spurred on the weary travelers.

"Helm's Deep, at last." Éowyn sighed, watching as the many people around her surged forward. She glanced up at Alandria and smiled softly again, patting Dustling's shoulder. "Come, let us hurry and get the people in before the men return!"

Alandria nodded, and nudged her horse into a trot again, turning to round up the remaining people.

* * *

Éowyn entered the broad gates of Helm's Deep first among her people, and Alandria brought up the rear. Many of the people saw their families already there, and ran to greet them. Others dispersed more slowly, but still eagerly, comforted to be in their refuge. A few stayed by the carts with the food, and set to unpacking what things they had. Éowyn kept watch and help organized the unloading, as Alandria trotted about uneasily. She felt cramped on horse-back in the roads meant for infantry, but did not long to be among the swarm of families and weary villagers. She finally found her way to the stairs and, after reluctantly leaving Dustling in the hands of a guard at their base, leapt up them swiftly. She stood at the top of the gate now, overlooking all the land before the Deep. And her timing was excellent, for no sooner had she looked out, than she saw a troop of men on horseback approaching, less than a mile away.

"They moved fast," She murmured, and then sped back down the stairs. She did not see the guard with her horse however, and furrowed her brow, turning on another guard nearby. "Where is my horse?"

"He was taken to the stables at the back of the Deep, my lady."

"What? I did not ask for that!"

The guard shifted now, unsure. "It..it was assumed, I suppose, my lady."

Alandria growled but did not bother to argue, and continued quickly to Éowyn. She found the fair lady still helping with the unloading of provisions, and grasped her arm urgently. "My lady! They're here - the Riders! They're back!" At once Éowyn's eyes lit, and she followed Alandria quickly to the gate, just as it opened and the remaining Riders trotted in. Éowyn rushed to her uncle, and Alandria followed a step behind, her green eyes already searching the small group.

"So few," Éowyn breathed. "So few of you have returned."

The King's features seemed guarded then, and he glanced at both of the women carefully, before turning to help one of his Riders. "Our people are safe." He replied. "We have paid for it with many lives."

He said nothing more, and Alandria felt the worry that had started since she first saw the small number of men, grow. She pulled lightly on her Lady's arm, and they both looked carefully through the crowd. Alandria saw the fair Legolas, and stout Gimli, and many other Riders, but no Ranger. But it could not be possible.

"My ladies," Gimli called their attention, stepping forward, his helm removed and bearded features somber.

"Lord Aragorn," Éowyn asked softly, her voice speaking where Alandria's would not. "Where is he?"

The Dwarf hesitated, fearing to say the words they had already assumed, but slowly choked them out. "He fell."

Éowyn stared, her round blue eyes brimming with tears, and turned to her uncle. He met her gaze and turned away, ashamed. What the golden-haired Lady then did, Alandria was not aware. She herself stumbled back from the group, her own eyes filling with watery sorrow. It was not possible, not Aragorn. He was one of the strongest men she knew, and skillful, and wise. He could not have fallen. It was simply not possible. But he did not appear, hidden from the depths of the few Riders, and she continued to back away from the group. Her throat felt choked, and her vision swam. The Ranger had been the one she did not ever see falling, and had been the one to keep her going on. Now that he was gone, what was she to do? Everyone was dying.

She started when a gently firm hand grasped her arm, and turned numbly towards the beautiful face of Legolas. His face was lined with pain, for the Ranger had been dear to him as well, and his blue eyes quavered with same. He took her arm and led her to a place away from the crowds, behind stone pillars, and quiet. He carefully sat her down, and even sat beside her. Unsure as his motions were, she was comforted the slightest by them, and welcomed him readily. Once his hand left her arm though, her head fell into her hands and she wept quietly.

The tears choked her, familiar and unwanted, but her cries were much softer than her last ones had been. Now they were just soft sobs, heard by no other than the Elf at her side. It pained him even further to see her tortured so, and his own scarce tears fell. Alandria's shoulders shook with the sorrow, and her mind reeled, wondering how such horror could have fallen their company. How could such actions have happened to the Fellowship? Surely when Elrond arranged their group, he had not seen any such things happening. Certainly not the fall of Aragorn. Still, she found it impossible for him to be dead. He was a great man, beyond many's reckoning. But Boromir had been a great man too. Great men fall, so it seemed. And now she was left wondering if any would survive the oncoming wars.

"I am sorry, my lady." Legolas finally murmured softly, hoping to ease her tears. "We got separated in the battle, and the Wargs were a great force.." He realized he truly had no words of comfort, and fell silent. But a moment later, Alandria slowed her choked sobs, and whispered roughly through her tears.

"Did you see him fall?"

"No, my lady."

"Where..where is his body?"

"The King told us not to bear the burden of the dead, and so we left them." He paused, and shifted slightly. "But Aragorn was not among them. He was taken over a cliff. We saw no body."

Her head jerked up to meet his keen eyes, and her reddened stare was intense. "No body?" He shook his head. "He may yet be alive?"

The Elf's already pained features softened, and he shook his head slightly. "It was a far fall, and there were rocks, and the water was rough. I do not think he would have survived."

"But he is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Ranger of the North and Heir of Isildur. You have seen his triumphs in battle. Do you really believe it would not be possible?"

He paused, careful of her sudden hope, but considering the words. "Perhaps," He said slowly. "it may be possible. But my lady, do not go hoping too highly. I know you do not want to think he is gone, but it is most likely."

But Alandria shook her head, and turned away with a shaky sigh, studying the blank stones before them. "But if I do not hope that one I love is alive," She murmured. "What do I hope for?"

The Elf did not answer, but remained silent, until faint words reached his sharp ears. He lifted his head, listening carefully, and then stood, pulling Alandria to her feet. "Come, some one beckons for you." She shot him a confused look but he did not heed it, and simply led her from their hidden refuge, into the wider streets.

Still Alandria did not hear her name or any call, but Legolas was facing to her left, and so waited from the direction he gazed. Not but a few seconds later, she did heard her name being called, and by a male voice she knew well but had not heard in many months. "Father?" She called back, just as the man strode around the corner and faced her.


	9. Fight Them Tonight

**This is a pretty slow chapter, I know, but it had to happen. Can't just suddenly start the battle lol :) Please review and let me know what you think! I know plenty of people read this, and if you're gonna read even a little bit of it, please take the 20 seconds to say two or three words - you've no idea how much it helps me keep writing! Thanks...love you all :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

He paused for a moment, as if surprised to see her, even though he had been calling for her. He seemed older than she'd last seen him, over a year ago, with more grey in his dark hair and lines in his firm face. But still he stood tall, grey-eyed and strong, and a wide smile lit his features.

"Alandria!" He cried, and rushed forward. "I heard word of a dark-haired Lady-Rider having come, leading the people from Edoras, but I did not believe it! Now I see you!" And he embraced her strongly, holding her tight and close to his warmth, and she felt the pain of the Ranger's loss subside.

"Father!" She pulled back while still clasping his elbows, and meet his eyes. "I had feared I would not see you again."

"Nay, my child. I told you I would return."

"Aye, you did. Little do I heed to promises however, in these times. For the strength of the Enemy does not heed them either." The line of her mouth grew firm and grim, and the older man's features sobered as well.

"Well said, my girl, and true. But you must think little of me, to believe I would not return to you! You are all I have left, Alandria." He smiled softly, cradling her cheek in his rough palm. "I had to return."

She simply nodded, taking hold of his hand from her face. "And you are all I have, Father."

He said nothing, but his smile disappeared, growing serious and concerned, and his grey eyes studied hers carefully. "Have you not even a smile to spare for your father? Tears are still on your face - what grief has reached you?"

Alandria sighed, her eyes dropping his and roaming restlessly about them. "Much, Father. More than there is time to tell here. But for now I will say this - most recently I have learned that a companion I loved dearly, for he is both strong and wise and has travelled alongside me for many miles, fell today. In a battle against Warg-Riders, he fell." Tears pricked her eyes again as she spoke, but she fought to hold them at bay.

The strong features of her father gentled, and he held tighter to her hands. "My daughter," He murmured. "I am sorry for your loss, and can see in your eyes you do indeed have much to tell me of the long months we have been apart. Come, let us find some place to rest, and you will tell your tale." She simply nodded in reply, weariness and sadness overwhelming, and followed where he led her.

* * *

Deep in conversation were Alandria and Elrendyn when shouts were heard, alarms of an arrival. Alandria stopped her story when she heard them, catching a familiar name, and stood quickly. "Father, please pardon me. There is a matter I must see to."

"Of course, Alandria. I shall come with you." He stood as well, and she did not argue.

She strode from the table where they had been seated, and made her way quickly towards the gate. Once there however, she saw nothing, and asked nearby people where the arrival had gone. They pointed her in the direction, and she hurried off again, heart beating quickly. And then, just as she neared the Keep, she saw him: his clothing was soaked and torn, blood stained what skin was visible, and his weary feet stumbled the slightest. But he was alive. The sturdy Ranger from the North was alive.

"Aragorn!" She cried, and the tattered figure turned. She saw his face then, and her heart felt as if it would nearly burst with joy, despite the weariness he bore. She rushed the final meters to him, and skid to a halt as her hands fluttered, unsure, about his shoulders and face. She wanted to touch, as if to be sure he was real, but felt such action would be out of line, and might even harm him. But he merely smiled warmly, and took her restless hands in his, bloodied as they were. "You're alive." She breathed, gazing at him in wonder.

He nodded, watching her intently. "I have yet to fulfill my duty here. And a mere Warg and a cliff cannot defeat me." He smiled gently again, and her lips trembled uneasily in reply.

"We were so afraid...so afraid we'd lost you...and the Lady Éowyn!" Alandria's green eyes widened, as she remembered the affections her lady held for the man. "She must be told."

"In time," The Ranger nodded. "but first I must speak with the king."

"Yes, of course." She nodded, and then Aragorn looked over her head, behind her. She turned, and saw her father still standing. "Father! Lord Aragorn, this is my father, Elrendyn. He arrived here a few days ago. Father, this is the Lord Aragorn, whom I told you of."

Her father stepped forward, and only then did she see the striking resemblance between him and the rugged Ranger. Both were tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed and stern faced. Aragorn had an air of nobility and relentless strength about him however, and it separated them clearly. But they equally bowed their heads, and her father smiled slightly. "She has spoken quite highly of you, Lord Aragorn, and I am honored for you to have taken such care of her. It seems it has been needed."

"Nay, lord, she has taken care of herself and even at times I, as well as any. She is strong." The Ranger's gaze turned to Alandria and he smiled faintly for a moment, but turning back to her father. "It is good to know you are here, though, and hopefully other good fighters came with you. I fear they will be needed soon."

Alandria paled, and stepped forward once more. "My lord, what do you mean? What have you seen?"

Aragorn sighed softly, looking down at her faintly worried eyes. "I have seen an army approaching. More of the matter I will not say, until I have spoken to your King Théoden of it. Speaking of, I must go to him, I have lingered too long. Farewell my lady, and lord, until later." And the dark man bowed his head, before backing away and leaving to tell of the army they were now threatened by.

* * *

"Perhaps we should find someplace to sit, and wait there. It does no good pacing on the doorstep." Elrendyn sighed, trying to convince his daughter to leave the men in the Keep alone, and stop pacing so relentlessly outside the door. "We will know of their plans when they come out."

"I know father, and I know my impatience bothers you, but I cannot help it. We've been expecting some sort of attack, and I felt the Wargs would not be the only one..."

"Then we should wait elsewhere, and we will learn of the new enemy soon enough."

"No, I must wait here. I should be part of their conversations! I should be hearing what Aragorn saw...how long have they been in there?" She stopped and faced the doors, biting her lip impatiently. "It feels like ages."

"Nigh but minutes, Alandria. You must be patient. Were you so eager while on your previous journey?"

Alandria turned to face her father, and saw the faint smile on his aged features. The corner of her mouth raised, and then she shook her head, sighing. "No. At least, I do not think so. Everything seems to be moving so quickly now though, and I do not know what it is. It makes me uncomfortable. I-" She was cut short, as the large wooden doors finally opened. King Théoden, proud and strong as ever, stepped forward, flanked by Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gamling. "My lords?" Alandria approached, bowing her head quickly. "What news has the Lord Aragorn brought?" She looked expectantly at each of the men's faces, and was troubled by what she found: unease, worry, and fear.

After a moment of silence, Théoden sighed heavily. "Aragorn has seen a large company of Uruk-hai approaching from Isengard. Thousands, possibly ten. They will be here by nightfall." Alandria stared for a long moment, shocked into silence. While she remained in awe, the King looked towards her father. "Elrendyn, I am glad to see you here. It's been far too long since I've had your grand service. Now I ask you - gather all the men that arrived with you, and prepare for battle. Quickly." The dark-haired soldier nodded, and quickly strode away.

Alandria finally found her voice, and verbalized her worries as the men continued through the fortress. "And we are to fight them? Tonight?"

"Yes."

"That is not possible! We will never make it!"

"Your optimism is appreciated."

She ignored the King's dry sarcasam, and continued, "My lord, please, you cannot mean for us to fight."

"What else would we do?" He snapped, glancing at her sharply. "We will not be cut down like animals! Now let me prepare our people, Alandria, and remember your place here." His dark blue eyes were hard, and she instantly backed away, realizing she'd been out of line.

Seeing Legolas and Gimli also in their small group, and she held back to walk beside them. Legolas glanced at her sympathetically, and Gimli sighed. "There's no use arguin', lass. He's right. We've got to fight."

"Yes, but despite what he wants to think, we will still be cut down like animals." She growled in reply, and the Dwarf said no more.

"I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms ready by nightfall." Théoden instructed Gamling, who nodded. The king then walked to the Gate, which was being boarded up and stengthened, and then stepped out to the front of Helm's Deep. "We will cover the causeway, and the Gate from above. No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall, or set foot inside the Hornburg."

"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs!" Gimli protested. "These are Uruk-hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

Théoden approached the Dwarf timidly, glaring down at him. "I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own Keep." His voice was low, but warning, and he brushed past the stout, bearded man, the rest following. The King then climbed the steps up to the wall, walking along and watching as his people readied. "They will break upon this fortress like water on rock. Saruman's hoards will pillage and burn, we've seen it before. Crops can be resown; homes rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them.

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops of villages," Aragorn finally argued. "They come to destroy it's people - down to the last child!"

Théoden whirled on the Ranger, and grasped his shirt, pulling him closer. Alandria stumbled forward a step in defense to her companion, but stopped herself, reminded of where her place lay. Still, although her ears were less sharp than those of the Elf, she could hear pieces of the words exchanged.

"What would you..me do?...my men...courage hangs by a.....be their end, I would...such an end....worthy of remembrance." He held stares with the Ranger for a moment, before letting the man go, and stepping away.

"Send out Riders, my lord!" Aragorn insisted, unswayed. "You must call for aid."

"And who will come?" Théoden challenged, stepping closer. "Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead."

"Call for Gondor!" Alandria finally interrupted, and then was unsure why she'd even spoken.

Théoden turned his hard gaze on her, before glancing at Aragorn. "Gondor?" He growled. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?! Where was Gon-...no, my Lord Aragorn," He paused, turning his stare to Alandria as well. "We are alone." And he turned again, striding away from the quartet, before a word more could be said.

"He cannot think we will win this fight with what soldiers are here." Alandria murmured quietly, and Aragorn turned to face her, blue-green eyes soft.

"He must, for if he does not have hope, no one will."

"But he will not even try for help!"

"He's right though." Legolas intervened, warm voice gentle. "There are near no options for help left, and any are too far away to arrive in time. There is no help to come."

Alandria stared out at the empty lands before the stone fortress uneasily, green gaze worried. "Then we are all going to die."

"Alandria." The Ranger's smooth voice cut sharply, firmly, and her grasped her shoulder to make her face him. "Do not think like that. There is a chance. We may yet defeat this." She remained looking doubtful and he sighed, features gentling even more. "Go the lower levels, and help the women and children to the caves. Rid your mind of these fears for the time being." She looked ready to protest, and he gently nudged her towards the stairs. "Go."


	10. Honorable Charge

**Hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Alandria obeyed unwillingly, and slowly descended the stairs, immediately becoming caught in the midst of several families moving their belongings to the caves. Alandria reluctantly offered her help, which was greatly appreciated, and lifted a basket of clothes to her hip to carry. She made several trips to and from the caves, helping a variety of people, and then ran into Gamling on her way back towards the Wall.

"You must go to the caves, milady." He told her. "No more wandering about."

"Wandering about? I'm helping the others."

"Yes, but that must be done now. You need to go to the caves, as the men are readying for the battle."

"To the caves?" She repeated in surprise, before shaking her head. "No, I can't go to the caves. I am a fighter."

"Nay, lady. All women and children to the caves."

"But I am no helpless woman! I have travelled with the Lord Aragorn, and Masters Legolas and Gimli! I am to fight beside them!"

"Nay," He repeated, shaking his head firmly. "To the caves." Without waiting for her to argue, he turned and strode away.

Alandria stood in the walkway for a stunned moment, before curling her lip and slipping through the slight crowds. Soon she found who she was looking for, followed by Legolas. Just as she came upon him though, the Lady Éowyn appeared as well, and caught his attention first. Alandria held back, waiting to give the Lady her moment with the Ranger she so obviously admired.

"I'm to be sent with the women into the caves!" She protested loudly, and he answered softly.

"That is an honorable charge."

"To mind the children! To find food and bedding when the men return!" She cried, angered just as Alandria had been. "What renown in there in that?"

"My lady," He murmured, clasping her arms firmly. "A time may come for valour without renown. Who then will your people look to in their defense?"

"Let me stand at your side."

His features were tinted with pain, and he looked down on her sorrowfully. "That is not in my power to command." He replied gently, and turned to walk away, only to be halted by her words once more.

"You do not command the others to stay! They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you!" She paused, staring into his eyes and her voice shook with emotion. "Because they love you." Alandria felt shamed to be hearing such conversation, and took a step back, but the exchange was over. The Lady Éowyn bowed her head and apologized, before brushing past the Man and Elf, and disappearing in the thick of the retreating crowds.

Aragorn spotted her then, and clearly knew she had heard his and the Lady's words. But he said nothing, only waited for her to approach. "You know what it is I am going to say." She stated, stepping towards him.

He nodded, sighing softly with the same pity he had shown Éowyn in his eyes. "And I again say I cannot command that."

"But you can challenge it."

"I will not."

"And why not?!" She cried, her grass-green gaze pleading. "You know I can fight! I have fought beside you! And you know also that any extra body will help. The defense needs me."

"Aye, you have fought beside me. And too often have you been in harm's way. For once, Alandria, be safe. Comfort your people. They will need you, and the Lady Éowyn, if things grow dark."

"Be safe?! Hiding in the caves will not be safe! We're just as likely to be killed there as in the middle of a battlefield! Against this oncoming army, nowhere can we be safe! We're just holding off the inevitable!"

"Curb your tongue, my lady." The Ranger snapped quietly, glancing around. Alandria followed suit, and saw several severely frightened faces, having overheard her outburst. "If you do not think you will be safe, you must have the others think so at least. They are not all as strong as you and the Lady, and you both will needed there as much as here. I am not casting you aside Alandria, nay, rather I would be eager for your sword with mine. But it is not my command, and people need you in the caves as well. Now please, my lady, to your charges. Darkness is falling."

His lecture silenced her quickly, and she nodded numbly, before pushing her way past him and a worried Legolas, just as golden-haired Éowyn had done.

She strode angrily through the crowd, and soon came upon the deep caves. The air grew cooler, and wetter, and the only light flickered from torches on the walls. Hundreds of people were crowded in the dark space, bunched together like frightened animals. Alandria muttered foully under her breath, hand on her sword's hilt as she paced through the tense crowd. Wide, terrified eyes glanced at her, taking in her stiff posture, hard face, and weapon. Children clung to their mothers, many of them crying, some of the women crying as well. Soldiers wandered about, searching the families for any husband or son that could be used for the battle. Many young sons were torn from their pleading mothers' grasps, many aged fathers and grandfathers quietly comforted their families as they walked away. Alandria was numb to it all, having found a cold, lone spot of stone to sit on, away from the cries and tears. She sat silently, teeth gnawing her thumb nail, eyes focused unseeingly on a glittering spot of nearby cave.

She didn't want to believe Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli would die. She didn't want to believe that her King Théoden would fall, and the whole of Rohan would follow. She didn't want to think that Gandalf had abandoned them, where his errand led him, and that once Helm's Deep was defeated, the valiant Éomer and his remaining éored would fall also. She didn't want to think of being found here, deep in the caves, by the enemy, and slaughtered helplessly with the other women and children, with the Lady Éowyn. But she found nothing else to believe, or to think. For there was no chance that their mere hundreds of fighters - most of which were unskilled - could defeat the army approaching. They would be destroyed. Rohan would fall. And, most likely, Middle-earth would soon be taken by darkness.

Alandria sighed heavily, and dropped her head in her hands, closing her eyes to the thoughts. She did not hear the footsteps of an approach, until her name was spoken.

"Alandria?"

She lifted her head quickly, and met the dark blue gaze of Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan. "Yes my lady?"

"May I join you?"

"Of course, my lady." Alandria moved over on her seat, revealing room for the fair lady. Éowyn sat, and they remained silent for a long moment, neither of them even looking at each other. The women and what children were left in the caves finally settled down, huddling together in groups or laying down, hoping to sleep away the approaching horror. Still, many cried, but no one paid heed any longer.

"I am glad you are here, Alandria." Éowyn finally broke their silence, receiving a glance from her dark-haired friend. "I was ashamed, and angered, to be hidden in the caves so. I wanted to fight. But with you here, perhaps it shall be easier." Alandria did not answer. "I had thought they would surely let you fight with them, and I would have to remain in the caves because I am a Lady of the Hall. Now I see that, however wrong it may seem to us, they are making no exceptions."

"They should have. One, two fighters would be helpful, with their numbers as they are." Alandria murmured, eyes still on the cave walls.

"Yes, it would have been wise, I think." Éowyn replied softly, her eyes roaming over the distraught families littered about. She sighed, and looked to her side, at her silent friend. "Do you think there is a chance, Alandria?"

The grass-green gaze flicked in the Lady's direction, then quickly away as she shrugged slightly. "I suppose there is always a chance."

"But do you think there is one? Do you feel we can win?"

Alandria met the Lady's intense stare carefully, answering slowly and honestly. "No, I do not see any hope of victory." Éowyn turned away, as if the answer pained her, even if it had been expected. Still, Alandria continued. "We have not enough fighters, nor with enough skill. Most are too old, too young, or just plainly too inexperienced. We have called for no aid, none will come, and we will fight alone. Against thousands of strong Uruk-hai, no. I do not see victory."

"I do not either." Éowyn replied. "And I do not know if it comforts me to know you think the same. I do not want to see Rohan fall, or the people die. Certainly not my uncle, who just got his life back."

"No one ever wants to see such things, my lady. But it is not our choice. We just do what we can." Alandria sighed, glancing at her hands clasped before her, then up at the crowded caves. Torches glittered off the walls, and in the wide eyes of young children. She shifted, and then raised to her feet, before offering her hand to her lady. "But for now, we can try to comfort others that are more frightened than we are." Éowyn took the extended hand, and stood as well, watching Alandria curiously. "Come, we are down here to help the women and children. Let us do something besides think of death." The White Lady smiled slightly, and nodded.

"Aye. We'll do what we can."

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Neither of the women knew how many children and mothers they'd murmured soothingly to, or how long they'd been in the caves. There was nothing to be heard from the men readying about the fortress, and in the dark, glittering holes, no one knew whether night had yet fallen or not. Alandria assumed so, for it seemed to her as though her and Éowyn had spoken with innumerable families for at least a matter of hours. Now however, they had reassured and comforted all they could as much as they could, and sat again side by side, quietly.

Alandria had her knees pulled up to her chest, and rested her arms on top of them. She felt something soft on her fingertips, and glanced at her side to see the fur-lined edge of the cloak about her shoulders. It brushed her fingertips as she breathed, and she tolerated it for a moment, before reaching to grasp the entire edge. She pulled the soft cloth tighter about her, and her stomach churned.

_The dark halls were silent, eerily so, and the faint light from Gandalf's staff was still the only illumination. Every shadow caught her attention, and her blood was chilled in the damp dark of the mines. They were only halfway through their journey in Moria, and although they had no knowledge of night or day, it was decided time for rest - and she was on watch. She had been watching for over an hour, but slowly it seemed as though the stone walls got colder, and darker, as time went on. She shifted uncomfortably, and an unwanted shiver trembled swiftly through her._

_"You are cold?"_

_She jumped at the quiet, unexpected mumur. She looked over, knowing who had spoken, and saw the broad shouldered Man from the South had raised himself to his elbows, watching her intently. "It's nothing. Just uncomfortable." Her words were whispered, for no longer could they separate themselves at night when they wished to talk, and even quiet words carried well in the echoing halls._

_He didn't answer, but instead quietly climbed up from his laying spot on the hard floor, and padded softly to where she sat. He stood beside her for a moment, and although she had tried to ignore him, to convince him she was fine, still she started in surprise when something fell across her shoulders. A quick glance told her it was his Gondorian cloak, a dark red-brown, soft, with elegant patterns across it, and a dark, fur-lined edge. He settled it on her, his hands light and careful, then lowered himself easily beside her._

_"Now you will be cold." She finally argued, looking pointedly at him._

_His handsome face broke into his broad smile and he shrugged. "Nah, I will be alright. My clothes are thicker than your's." Still she looked doubtful, but he only continued to smile. "Trust me, I would not have offered if I would be cold."_

_She knew, as did he, that he certainly would have offered even if he might have frozen to death, but she did not press it. "Thank you." She answered instead, voice even softer, as she hugged the warm cloth closer to her body._

_"Of course, m'lady." His rich voice itself warmed her, and she sighed in content. _

_Silence fell around them again, and Alandria found the contorted shadows of the abandoned mines once more unnerving. Almost unconsciously, she reached to her side, and grasped the gloved hand that rested nearby, needing connection. The man started in brief alarm, but then merely smiled softly, and did not move._

"This was his, you know."

"Pardon?" Éowyn turned to her friend, caught off-guard by Alandria's sudden words.

"This cloak. It was Boromir's."

Éowyn's blue eyes softened, and she studied the handsome cloak intently. "It's beautiful. Did he give it to you?"

Alandria's skin twitched in a slight flinch, and she shook her head. "No, Aragorn bid me to take it. When he fell."

"I am sorry, I did not know."

"No, don't be sorry." Alandria sighed, running her fingers lightly across the patterns. "I didn't want to take it, and for the longest time it felt wrong to wear it. Still it does not always feel right, but I am glad Aragorn forced me to keep it. It's comforting, at times..."

Éowyn of Rohan again watched her haunted friend intently, still shocked at the change, in only a matter of months. "Alandria," She murmured, gently, resting her hand on Alandria's arm. "I am sorry that you lost him. Please do not shake away my sympathy, for I am honest. I am sorry he left you so much hurt."

Alandria indeed wanted to brush away the comforts, but was weary, and had little hope left. So instead she nodded, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, my lady. I'm sorry too."

Éowyn clasped her friend's hand tightly, and smiled, although it was strained. Alandria did not bother trying to return it, but nodded, and clasped her hand in return. They stayed like that for a long, silent moment, and slowly both were comforted. But then came a sound neither might have expected. A horn from afar, muffled by the thick caves, but heard nonetheless. Both the women leapt for their feet, eyes wide and ears alert.

"They've come?" Éowyn whispered, but Alandria shook her head, rushing closer to the entrance of the caves.

"No," She whispered, confused. "That is not for orcs." She then pressed her ear closely to the wall of the cave, as Aragorn had shown her, and closed her eyes to focus. She was not nearly as skilled as the Ranger, but luckily the approaching warriors were not hiding their advancement. "I can hear their marching!" She told Éowyn, and the many others that were listening. "But..it is not many. It sounds only heavy enough for perhaps...a score, maybe two score of soldiers..." Her report trailed away, and the gathered viewers grew tense, wondering what was happening, who had arrived. Then Alandria eased back from the rough wall, her eyes bright.

"Two score, you say?" One woman from the crowded villagers asked. "That's hardly enough to do anything!"

"Yeah, what use is that?" Another asked, but Alandria shook her head.

"No, it's not only two score. More than that, I'm sure. Their steps are lighter than Men's, so I cannot tell."

"Who's steps?" Came another voice.

Alandria's eyes were wide, bright, a flame of hope kindled in them as a faint smile turned her mouth. "The Elves'."


	11. Wish For A Proper Death

**So we're nearing the end of the Two Towers, with just this chapter and either one long one or two short chapters left. I'm undecided how to do it. And I hope once that is done, this story will pick up for you readers, even though I'm suffering with periods of Writer's Block... I also apologize now that the Battle of Helm's Deep isn't very long - I only recently discovered how difficult it can be to drag out battles when I'm not all that familiar with them myself, lol. But I hope you enjoy it all nonetheless :)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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"Elves? Which ones?"

"Why would the King call Elves for help?"

"How many are there?"

"Surely now we will win this battle, won't we? Elves are excellent fighters!"

"I don't know!" Alandria snapped, answering all the babbling questions. "I cannot tell how many, for I am not skilled enough and their steps are too light. I don't know if Théoden called for them. After hearing his words earlier, I doubt it. I do not know where they are from - Rivendell or Lothlórien, most likely, but I do not know which. And most certainly, I do not know if we will win. Do not count on it, but perhaps now there is a better chance."

Her words were not entirely reassuring, but few paid heed to them as they were too excited at the thought of Elves coming to aid. The many women chattered excitedly, and the children looked confused, but understood their mothers were happier and many even smiled. Alandria merely sighed, locking gazes with the Lady Éowyn.

"They do not listen."

Éowyn smiled slightly, resting a reassuring hand on her friend's arm. "They just want to believe we will make it out of here alive."

"But if we don't? Then what?"

"Then we don't." Éowyn shrugged. "There is nothing now we can do about it. Can you not have some hope that the arrival of the Elves will aid us?"

"I have given up on hoping for much of anything lately, my lady. It never seems to serve any good."

"But it can, Alandria. It keeps one's spirits up, and saves us all from total despair. Do you mean you have no hope for anything?"

Alandria shrugged, sighing again and sitting back down. "I don't know. I try not to think about it."

"And why not? Do you not hope that the _hobytla _that bears the Ring still lives? And that every day he is getting nearer to his destination?"

"His destination is likely also his doom, my lady. And I do not know if I hope for that. But yes," Alandria paused a moment, nodding. "I suppose I do hope that he lives, and the journey continues. And I hope Merry and Pippin are alright, the fools." She smiled faintly. "Gandalf told me they were in excellent care, but I still worry..And, for you my lady, I hope the Lord Éomer still lives, and he and his éored find some way to hold Rohan together if we here at Helm's Deep fall." She fell silent then, and the White Lady Éowyn watched her carefully.

"Do you not hope we have victory here?"

Alandria didn't answer for a long moment, her eyes on the stone floor, thinking. Finally, she nodded slightly, as if still deciding. "Yes, I think I do hope we have victory here. For a death down here, hiding in the caves, is no proper death. Not for fighters, my lady." Another slight smile tugged the edge of her mouth, and Éowyn returned it faintly.

"Then you wish for a proper death, not for victory?"

"There cannot always be victory, my lady."

Éowyn, Shield Maiden of Rohan, nodded and turned away, her mind churning with all that her friend had just spoken.

Still more time passed in the dim caves. A crack of sudden thunder caused all in the caves to jump, glancing around nervously. The sound of a storm was then heard, the rush of falling rain and random booms of thunder. A tension filled the air. All knew that with the coming of the storm, would surely be the coming of the enemy. Their thoughts were soon answered, as the faint patter of rain was filled with the stamps of many marching feet. The women stopped their whispers, and even the few whimpering children silenced. They watched the walls of the caves with wide eyes, as if expecting at any moment a horde of Uruk-hai to come bursting in.

The marching got louder, and louder, and the people surrounding Alandria became more frightened with every stamp. Then they stopped. The footsteps silenced. Thunder still rolled and rumbled, but there was no more marching. Alandria left her post beside Éowyn to press her ear against the rock near the entrance of the cave again, listening intently, hoping to hear some sign of what was happening. Still there was silence, a dreadful lack of sound that made all wonder and fear just how many monsters stood before their fortress, and whether or not there was any chance of surviving. And then began a horrible pounding. It was so sudden and angry that Alandria tore away from the cool wall in surprise, and looked around to see hundreds of terrified faces and wide eyes. Reluctantly, she pressed her ear to rock once again. With the steady, nightmarish war-pounding came roars, and snarls of foul creatures. The effect was chilling, and yet adrenaline flowed freely through her veins. Then silence again.

The second silence was worse than before, and shorter. It lasted only a few seconds, and then was disrupted by such snarling and roars and clamour that Alandria stepped away from the cave wall. There were the roars of rage and battle-fury amidst the noise, and all in the caves could clearly tell that the battle was beginning. The noise did not die down, nor was there another silence, and the marching from before came again, but was turned into a rapid hum. Saruman's army was moving, moving quickly, and beginning their seige on Helm's Deep.

A few children began to whimper again, and cry, the ugly sounds worse than a nightmare. Their mothers tried to comfort them, but could do little as they themselves were afraid. Alandria started as her hand was clasped, but looked to her side and saw the dirtied, frightened face of a woman younger than herself. She tried to smile reassuringly, but it was a failed attempt. Instead she held tight to the frightened woman's hand, glancing around to find her Lady. Éowyn herself stood a few feet away, also comforting a worried commoner. The two women's gazes met, and they understood without speaking, that this is what they had been forced into the caves for. Not to hide, not because they were less than the men, not because they could not fight. But because the people, the women and their terrified children, needed them. And although it was not what either of them would have wished, it was too late to do otherwise, and it was all they could do. So they would do it.

The clash and roars and pounding of the battle echoed continually around them all, and each imagined the snarls were getting nearer, and the running steps getting closer. All wondered if those they loved still lived, and how many lay dead. Who was winning? Saruman, or Rohan? Was it even possible for Rohan to win, even with the help of the Elves? More animal-like snarls answered their unspoken questions. And then came a sound like the loudest crack of thunder any had heard, and it seemed as though it had landed inside the cave itself. Alandria felt the walls vibrate briefly, and then the deafening boom faded, only to be followed by even louder roars.

"What was that?" Some whispered.

"Perhaps it is the signal we have already lost." One replied.

"It was the wall." Alandria murmured, silencing the scarce whispers in realization. "The Deeping Wall. They've broken through."

"But..how?" Asked the woman who still clung to Alandria. "It has never been done before."

"Saruman is cunning, and his craft evil. He must have found some way."

"Then surely Helm's Deep will fall!" cried a voice. "If they've broken through the Wall, they'll be in the Deep! And have entrance to all of the fortress! They will come!"

"Do not say such things!" The Lady Éowyn snapped, and all turned to her. Her golden hair shimmered in the torch light, and her strong, fair face was warmly hued. Her dark blue eyes were hard however, and they glinted proudly. "True, none have broken through the Wall before. That does not mean we will be defeated! Remember those whom you know and love that went to battle - remember how strong they are, and how much they love their country and King. They will not easily fall. There is a chance. You must hope." Her dark gaze met Alandria's, whom nodded, and she smiled slightly.

Silence fell in the caves again, but it was disrupted continually but the unceasing noise of battle from above and around. It continued far longer than any dared count, or wanted to know. To many it seemed that the roars and snarls were getting louder with the passing time, but they all prayed it was only their mind's tricks. The sounds continued, and Alandria felt what little hope she'd had, begin to steadily fade. The battle was continuing only because there were a few enough soldiers to left to continue fighting, not because they were winning. Merely holding off the inevitable, as she'd told Aragorn. Aragorn. Was he dead yet? Or was he one of the small number she was sure was left, still fighting? What about Legolas, and sturdy little Gimli? She could not imagine them having fallen. But she had not been able to imagine the Captain-General of Gondor falling either. Yet all can fall, all can die. Perhaps, here, all would. And the King Théoden? She did not want to think of what had become of him.

Footsteps sounded then, and all fell even more silent than they had been, barely breathing. Was it the first of the vast army of Uruk-hai approaching? Would they be found already, and killed? But there came solid knocks at the large wooden door that sealed off the caves. Still, no one said a word.

"I am Gamling, Guard of the King! Open the doors!" Alandria leapt to her feet at the voice, and detatched herself from the woman, then hurried to the large door. She lifted the large bolt with the help of Éowyn, who had hurried forward as well, and they opened it barely more than a foot. Gamling indeed stood there, sweaty and dishevled, but alive. "The women and children need to take the pass into the mountains, now."

Alandria paled. "The Uruks have progressed?"

"Aye. We're holding in the Keep right now, but we do not know how long it will last. My orders are to have you all move to the pass into the mountains. Hurry!" He turned to rush back to his King and the few remaining soldiers, but Alandria caught his arm.

"And what will you and the others do? Just stand and fight and die?"

"We fight, that is all I know for sure. As I left to come here, I heard the Lord Aragorn say something of riding out together. But it is a foolish idea, and I heard no reply from the King." He paused, only then realizing what he'd said and whom he'd said it to. "You are to go into the mountains, my lady, and protect the people. The men ride out. You and the others flee, and maybe survive. Go, now." He pulled away from her and disappeared back down the long hall.

"Come, Alandria. Let us do as he says, and get the people out." Éowyn tugged on her friend's hand, urging her back towards the women and children.

Alandria's green gaze lingered down the dark hall that Gamling had disappeared into, but slowly she nodded, turning back to the Lady. "You lead them on again, and I will follow."

Éowyn nodded, not questioning for she suspected nothing, and shouted to the people crowded in the caves, "We must head into the mountains! There is a small passage at the back of the caves, and it will lead us out. The men will follow when...when they can. Follow me!" The women picked up their children, or urged them forward, and eagerly followed their strong Lady.

Alandria held back like she had told Éowyn she would do, and gently pushed forward any that trailed behind. She made as if to go with them, telling the final stragglers that she was only running back to make sure the caves were completely empty. There was no one left, all had fled, and only then did she stand still. She waited a moment in the suddenly abandoned, glittering caves, and listened to the sounds of the people's retreat for a moment. She did not want to leave her Lady Éowyn like this, did not want to abandon her with the women and children. Perhaps the Lady would understand. Alandria had told her - there could not always be victory, so she wanted a proper death. And only in this way could she achieve that. Not by fleeing into the mountains, leaving the rest to slaughter. She owed her soldier that - he had died to protect something, save something, to do some good. She would die the same.


	12. Victory

**Hey all! Sorry about such a long delay, but I was in my school's play production and as it came nearer to performance nights I got busier and busier, then when performance nights _did_ arrive, I had no free time at all. But things have finally mellowed down, and as I wanted to get the Two Towers part of this story done with before Thanksgiving, I'm posting it all now :) So here ends The Two Towers, and I will hopefully get Return of the King up very soon! Please read and review - thank you, loves! xx**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Without another thought, Alandria dashed towards the great wooden door at the cave's entrance, struggling to lift the bolt they had just put back in place, and then heaving her entire bodyweight against the wood. It gave way slowly, and she slipped through the small space impatiently, stumbling a moment, and then running down the hallway. She was nearly to the Keep when she skid to a halt, realizing what she was doing. Running out there, to what sight she could only imagine, on foot would be ridiculous. Gamling had said Aragorn wanted to ride out. Quite likely, they were going to do just that. She ran back a few meters, finding the branch of path that headed towards the Keep's small stables, and running inside. Or they had already ridden out, she realized upon seeing only three horses still stabled. But there was a sight that cheered her - Dustling was among them.

"Hey, my boy." She greeted, quickly grabbing his saddle, which was nearby, and slipping into the stall with him. "Earlier I told you we were not to fight then. Now, we fight." She checked the girth, pulling it slightly tighter, and then swiftly slipped his bridle on, and the bit into his mouth. "We fight for the King, and the Lady, and all of Rohan. We fight for Frodo and the Ring. But, even more so," She led him out of the stall, then smoothly leapt into the saddle. "We fight for him, eh? For him." She patted his neck, and then jumped, as the bellowing echo of a horn sounded about them. Dustling whinnied sharply, stamping uneasily, as the throaty rumble continued. Alandria slowly realized what it was - Helm Hammerhand. Something told her the horn's bellow was not for victory, and she smiled grimly, before digging her heels into her steed's sides.

The strong horse took off down the narrow hallway, and quickly came upon the Keep's backdoor. Surprisingly enough, it was left open, and horse and rider charged through boldly. Alandria reined Dustling in for a second, seeing the broken Keep door, and the just-disappearing rears of other horses. A handful of Uruk-hai stood at the broken doorway however, and spotted her, roaring their anger. Alandria merely bared her teeth, kicking Dustling on, and shouted "Rohan!" before plowing into the monsters.

Her adversaries fell back easily, Dustling's powerful legs knocking them aside as Alandria drew her sword. She could see the figures of the horses and their riders ahead of her, and Dustling followed easily. She swung at any Uruk that came too near, and was soon out of the Keep, galloping down the bridge, Dustling trampling many fallen bodies as he went. Alandria felt a chill of fear strike her, seeing the black mass of Uruk-hai that still stood, surrounding the stone fortress of Helm's Deep. A handful of soldiers on horseback were in their midst, and Alandria was able to catch glimpses of King Théoden and Aragorn, but nothing more, as she herself was thrown into the battlefield.

To her left, she swiped across the bared collar of an Uruk-hai, then turned to her right, and thrust into the lower shoulder of another. She wheeled Dustling around, using his powerful body to knock aside the adversaries. They stumbled, and she rushed forward, knocking two down, and cutting through another few. She cried out at a sharp pain in her right leg, and looked down to see a stream of red blood seep from a gash above her knee. She had no armor on, nothing but her travel-clothes, and the Uruks crude weapons could pierce it easily. She hadn't realized how foolishly she'd plundered into the mess, but now, it was too late to turn back. So with another yell she swung her strong blade down on another monsters neck, then hacked across another's throat, a cruel joy coming from the leak of black blood. She swung Dustling in a circle again, pushing around more of the monsters, and continued to swing freely at any that came too near. Her attempts were bold, but steadily becoming futile as still more and more Uruk-hai pressed in around her and the other riders, singling them each out and separating them. Alandria turned her steed in a tight circle yet again, but it did little to the black mass surrounding her. She bared her teeth in defiance and swung again, cutting down another handful of the creatures.

Suddenly, many of the foul monsters stopped their attack, and turned to face another direction. Alandria had her sword raised, but paused, as few of the enemies were moving. They had turned to look towards a warm light that shone from behind her, and cautiously, she turned Dustling to face the light's direction. The sun was shining barely over the crest of a large hill, and at it's peak stood a single rider. He glimmered white and silver, and stood out boldly in the golden sunlight. The words of Gandalf rushed back to her then, and she realized this dawn indeed marked the fifth day since he had set out from Edoras. Now the White Rider perched above their bleak battlefield on the back of his brilliant stallion, and they were enough to cause a silence. But Alandria was quick to realize that the single Wizard would be little help to their cause. Even the great Gandalf the White could not win them this battle.

Her worries were cast aside, however, as another Rider appeared at the Wizard's side. He shone in a flash of bronze and gold, shimmering with the sun rather than against it, such as the White Rider did. The hill was too high, and the distance between Alandria and the new arrivals too great, and she could not see the Rider's face. Somehow though, she knew it was the Lord Éomer, and he had been found by Gandalf and brought to aid them. Her thoughts were confirmed, as a wall of Riders appeared, lining the hill behind their two leaders. Éomer drew his sword, and at his signal, the Riders flowed down the hillside with a yell, the bright, White Rider at their lead. A wave of relief washed over Alandria, as she realized that in this battle, she was not yet ready to die. This was not that battle. So she held Dustling still, regaining some breath, as she watched the flood of valiant and powerful Riders approach the front lines of the Uruk-hai. The black monsters roared, holding their place, and aiming their large spears forward, at the approaching adversaries. Just as the Riders were nearly upon the Uruks tho, the sunlight came up even further from the hillside, blindingly bright, and caused the servants of Saruman to shield their eyes, losing view of the oncoming attack for but a moment. That moment was all that was needed, and the hundreds of horsemen charged into the Uruk-hai's ranks, pummelling them beneath sharp hooves, skewering them with strong lances.

Alandria felt odd, something was happening with her that felt out of place and almost new. It took her another moment of watching the seiging waves of Rohirrim to realize what the feeling was - she was smiling. Her lips had parted widely, revealing bright teeth and flushed cheeks, in a true smile. One such as she had not shown since before the soldier of Gondor fell. Her smile was not unnoticed - Legolas had noticed her dark hair in the midst of the battle, and now saw the joy on her face. Aragorn too caught sight of her once the turmoil of battle slowed, and his own soft smile loosed as he saw her's. Alandria was oblivious to their gazes, seeing only the golden wave of Riders overtaking the black Uruk-hai with ease, and feeling hope resurface, strong and fresh.

She regained her bearings after a moment, and slashed and swiped at the monsters around herself once again, but it was hardly needed. The ranks of Uruks dissolved quickly and easily, soon becoming scarcely a few hundred. They fled then, in the only the direction they could - to the dark forest, West of the wide valley.

"Victory!" She heard Théoden yell, and was relieved to hear he was still alive. "We have victory!"

The hundreds of Riders remaining charged after the retreating Uruks, thoroughly running them off. Alandria galloped beside Legolas, slightly behind Aragorn, but drew up to a halt with the rest of the line. Éomer charged before them, gesturing with his sword. "Don't go into the forest!" He yelled. "Keep away from the trees!" Only at his words did it dawn on Alandria that the forest hadn't been there before, and had never existed. What madness had suddenly created it, she did not know, but she had no intention of going any nearer to it. Instead she sat, with what remained of the Fighters For Helm's Deep, and watched the forest with interest. The Uruk-hai ran blindly in, fleeing the slaughter behind them. Once they had all disappeared inside the wood, however, the trees started to move. Alandria watched with wide eyes as the great, dark trees twisted and swung, and hundreds of pained screeches came from the forest's depth.

"What in the Valar is happening?" She whispered, glancing at Aragorn and Legolas, who each were beside her.

"The trees have come to help." Gandalf answered instead. "It seems Treebeard knew that we'd be having trouble, so he sent aid." The old Wizard smiled faintly, before sighing and turning Shadowfax around. "Come, let us go and find the women and children, and let them know they are safe!"

All eagerly followed the Wizard, and they soon loped back down to the great fortress of Helm's Deep. Alandria took in the sight of the massacred bodies - Uruks, Men, and fair Elves - and the rubble of the ruined Deeping Wall. "What happened there?" She asked, more to herself than to any one person.

Aragorn answered her though, closer to her than she had thought. "Saruman had created some new evil, and it exploded the wall."

"We heard it, in the caves, but could not think of how it could be done."

"The Wizard has many powers he shouldn't."

"I am seeing that now." She sighed, gazing once more at all the corpses. "The Elves, we heard them arrive. Where were they from? I do not know Elven clothing well enough to be able to identify them."

"Both Rivendell and Lothlórien. Lord Elrond sent them."

"Did you know any?" She asked gently, sensing the pain on the weary Ranger's face.

He sighed softly, before nodding. "Many. Haldir especially was among them."

"Haldir..." Alandria murmured, trying to place the familiar name. "He was of Lothlórien? When the Fellowship entered?" Aragorn nodded and Alandria glanced at the bodies again, with heavier sorrow. "That is ill news indeed.."

"Aye, indeed it is." Aragorn bowed his head for a moment, then studied her. "I should scold you for not being the caves." He commented, so randomly she almost laughed.

"Maybe."

"But what good would it serve, right?"

Alandria smiled again, satisfying his taunts. "Right."

He smiled gently in return, nodding. "I thought as much. And honestly my lady, I am glad to have you here to see the victory."

"So am I, Aragorn." She smiled faintly, as their horses plodded slowly into Helm's Deep. The empty streets had only a few dwellers, but Alandria could hear the murmur of many more approaching. Some Riders must have gone ahead and fetched the retreating people, bringing them back just in time. Both Alandria and Aragorn dismounted, and Alandria caught sight of the Lady Éowyn.

She nudged the dark-haired man beside her, and her glanced at her, then towards where she nodded. The golden-haired Lady of Rohan stood uneasily before the crowd of Riders and soldiers, searching for the faces of those she knew and loved. Alandria urged Aragorn forward and he smiled faintly at her, before stepping towards the Lady. Alandria did not watch to see their reunion, for she didn't know if it was her place. Instead she looked for a face of her own loved one, but had difficulty in the thick throng of the crowd.

"Legolas!" She cried, as his fair face passed by. He turned, and smiled softly when he saw her.

"My lady Alandria."

"I am glad to see you alive!" She embraced him warmly, and he returned it gently. "And Gimli?" She pulled away, glancing around with concern. "I thought I saw him earlier..."

"He's here, my lady, do not worry. Busy tallying up his kills though, I think. I need to go declare my proud slaying of forty two." The Elf grinned, and Alandria smiled softly in return, chuckling.

"You two are fools. But I will let you carry on with your games if you will tell me - have you seen my father?"

The gentle blue eyes softened, growing weary and sad. He sighed gently and rested a light hand on her shoulder. "Alandria.." He started, but she shook her head, backing away.

"No." She whispered, as hot tears burned her vision. "Not him too. No, not my father.." She murmured, and the tears ran slowly down her face, as Legolas spoke softly.

"He caught the blows of an Uruk that had nearly gotten Aragorn. Aragorn did not see the creature behind him, and Elrendyn intervened. He killed the Uruk, I saw it myself, but...there were too many others. He was overtaken. I am sorry, Alandria. So sorry."

Her tears still fell, but her sobs were soft as she spoke through them. "My father died...saving..Aragorn? I knew he..he thought well of...the Ranger, from what..I'd told him, but..." She stopped, crudely wiping away the tears with her hand, and taking a shaky breath. "Aragorn did not think to..to tell me this?"

"I do not think he knows, my lady. I do not believe he saw your father." She nodded, and already seemed to have a better grasp on her sorrow, but did not reply. "I am sorry for the losses you have suffered, Alandria. Both Boromir and your Lord Théodred, and now your father. I am very sorry."

"It is not your fault, my lord. And nothing you can do about it." She sighed again, her eyes falling down as she ran a hand across her sweaty brow. "I will be fine, I suppose, in time. And I must be, for this battle is not the end of it."

Almost as if he had heard her words, the White Wizard appeared in the midst of the surrounding reunions. He watched the few families reunited, many grieving, and sadness dwelt in his gentle gaze. He noticed the tears already drying on Alandria's face and shook his head gently at them. "Lord Théoden, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and you, Alandria, come." He commanded, and then said nothing more, and the five followed him, guards for Théoden accompanying as well. They wove their way out of the large group of Riders, each finding their mounts again at the Wizard's command, and Gandalf led them to the brink of another, more grassy hill - facing East. The sky in the East was dark and clouded, the clouds flashing with red sparks. "Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle of Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness. Take pride in this victory, yes, but remember how close it was to defeat. We have no time to waste, and must hasten to Isengard."

"Isengard?" Théoden asked, looking at the Wizard curiously.

"Yes, Isengard. There is a Wizard there that must be dealt with, and two little hobbits that need looking after once more. Only a few of us need go, however. Preferrably those of us gathered here, only. The rest may stay behind and bury the bodies, then hurry back to Edoras, where all can re-group and re-think our plans."

"What about Lord Éomer?" Alandria asked. "Should he not come with to Isengard as well? He's as large a part of this now as we are."

Gandalf nodded in agreement. "Quite right, my lady. Yes, the young Lord Éomer shall come as well."

"And Lady Éowyn?"

"No, not Éowyn." The King interrupted, before Gandalf could reply. "I want to keep her out of this as much as possible. Already she has seen too much war."

Gandalf nodded. "As you wish, lord. All agreed with these decisions?" He glanced around, and all nodded, just as expected. "Good." He smiled slightly. "Now, let us fetch the Third Marshall and quickly be on our way. There is not enough time left to be any less than swift!" He turned Shadowfax 'round, and nudged the stallion, before bolting back down to Helm's Deep, his company following eagerly behind.


	13. Part 2: With Haste

**Here is the first installment of the second part of this story. Reasonably long chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it...things will begin moving soon between our two main protagonists, I promise! ;)**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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The Riders were tired from battle and their horses weary, especially those of Éomer's éored. Thus, the journey was delayed. Gandalf didn't seem particularly pleased, but he eventually admitted that beginning their travel at night might be a wise idea anyway. So rather, the small company rode back to Helm's Deep and stabled their horses, then found themselves some rest. Théoden managed to only have to issue a few quick orders before retiring, and Éomer had even less trouble. Aragorn insisted upon treating the wounded however, and would not rest until he had done what he could. Gimli found his own bed easy enough, and Legolas, as he rarely properly slept, wandered about, often helping with the dead, as dead men held little sorrow for him. Alandria did not know where Gandalf went or what he did, but assumed he helped Aragorn, when he could. She herself, however, soon ran into the Lady Éowyn and spent a few short minutes apologizing for her abandonment. The Lady of Rohan was angry but oddly understanding, and soon left Alandria, as she had her own duties to now tend to. Alandria did not mention her father.

Instead, she limped about, trying to find some form of work to do, something to occupy her. She would have offered to go help move bodies - Uruk bodies, at least - but she was not sure she could stand the retched creatures at the moment. As she rounded a corner in the maze of the Deep, she ran straight into a passing soldier. The man apologized and continued quickly on his way, but Alandria paused, hissing at the flare of pain in her right leg. She glanced down at it, and saw dark red staining the fabric, just above the knee. With a muttered curse, she stood straight again, and limped carefully to the area Aragorn had proclaimed the Healing Ward. People bustled around busily, or lay groaning on the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of blood and herbs. It was sickening. Alandria glanced uneasily at the many bodies laying around, fearing to see any she recognized. Seeing the large number of wounded, she couldn't help but wonder how large the number of dead was.

"Alandria?" She jumped when her name was called, and looked up to see Aragorn a mere few feet away. Carefully, she took a couple steps towards him. He immediately registered her limp, and his tired eyes ran across her body carefully. "You are hurt?"

"Not badly, just a scratch I think."

"You think?" He raised an eyebrow, before gesturing to a low table behind her. "Sit on it, and let me check."

Alandria looked at the table questioningly, then sighed, and jumped up to sit on it, her feet swinging several inches off the floor. Aragorn tenderly rolled up her pant leg, and she shivered at his gentle touch, then jumped as it became painful, the wet fabric clinging to the wound.

"Easy, it won't hurt much." The Ranger murmured softly, then carefully pulled the pant the rest of the way back from the cut. Alandria could now see a dark red line that rested less than three inches above her knee, and was about the same in length, horizontally. It still bled, although not steadily. "I think you're right, it's just a bit of a scratch. Your movement must have disturbed it, and caused the excess bleeding. I will clean and wrap it, then you can get some rest."

"Actually my lord, I wanted to help with things. Bodies, or wounds, or even packing for Edoras. I am not tired, and need something to do."

The Ranger paused from where he was ruffling through a small bag of herbs, and stared at her for a long moment, making her considerably uneasy. Alandria shifted, as the turquoise gaze of the man bore into her. "You need rest." He simply stated, after a long moment of silence.

"I'm fine, my lord. After all, I am not the one that battled all night."

He ignored her remark, and finally continued his search in the bag. "You're exhausted, Alandria, I know you are. Now you have the time to sleep - take it. It will help your leg to heal as well."

"Please Aragorn, I cannot sleep here. Not when I know that tonight we ride for Isengard. Please, just fix the wound, and I will be on my way."

He wiped at her leg with a wet cloth, cleaning away the blood, and gently rubbed over the cut with a salve. His eyes flicked to her face, and they were hard, but he only sighed. "Fine, my lady." He said nothing more as he wrapped a firm bandage around her thigh, his strong hands sure and gentle. He was quickly done, and gently patted the wrap, before pulling her pant leg back down. "Have you any more breeches with you?"

"No, but I'll find some. Or just wait till we arrive back at Edoras, it does not matter."

He nodded absently, and then gently lifted her down from the table. His hands around her made her uneasy, but she supressed the tremble building inside her. "Do as you wish, my lady, even though I would suggest rest. But please," He raised a hand, and his calloused fingers cradled her cheek for but an insant as he sighed, remembering her smile from earlier. "Be careful."

She nodded, and quickly pulled away. "Thank you, Aragorn." She started to turn away, and then hesitated, debating whether or not to tell him about her father. But the Ranger was on the edge of exhaustion, she could see it, and turned away instead. Now was not the time to bother him. Instead, she walked out of the Healing Ward, her leg less painful after the salve, and down the open corridor, searching for something to do and keep her awake. She was indeed tired, nearly feeling exhausted, but she did not want to attempt sleep, and now with her father dead, she knew it would be an even more restless attempt. So she tried to find something to do, some task to help someone with, and keep her busy. Most of the men were out on the field, moving and burning carcasses, or wounded, and many of the women were doing what they could in the Healing Ward. But she soon found several families that were trying to re-pack things for the return trip to Edoras, and offered her help to them, so they could be on their way before nightfall.

"Do you not sleep?"

Alandria started in surprise at the smooth voice from behind her, and quickly glanced towards it, before returning to packing wrapped food tightly in a basket. "I am not tired, and the people need help. They should be gone before we leave tonight." She lifted the heavy basket, and grunted as she heaved it over the edge of the wagon. It caught on the corner though, and started to tilt hazardously, before it was stabled by a large hand. Alandria looked over into dark hazel eyes, and the man silently took the large basket from her, and then set it gently into the cart. "Thank you, milord."

He watched her silently for a moment as she began packing more food, and then spoke again. "I did not expect to see you so soon, my lady. And certainly not on a battlefield."

Alandria paused her work, and looked up at him, then brushed her hands on her dirty trousers and sighed. "Nor did I, Lord Éomer. But I cannot express how glad I am to see you alive."

"You did not expect me alive?" He smiled slightly, as if it was amusing.

Alandria shrugged slightly. "I try not to hope for too much. Last I knew, you were riding off to be slaughtered by Uruk-hai."

"Have you so little faith?"

Alandria smiled faintly at his mock-sorrow expression. "Nay, my lord. I suppose this is my complicated way of thanking you and your éored for arriving when you did. Otherwise we surely would have failed, and Helm's Deep would have been taken. We owe you all the victory."

"Thank Gandalf, he came to us not but three days ago, and urged us to follow him. He told us Rohan was in dire need."

"And he was right, as you saw yourself."

Éomer nodded, dark features solemn. "Yes. I have never seen such an army. All from Isengard, yes?"

"Yes. Unbelievable, isn't it?" Alandria shook her head with a sigh. "And so many dead... But please, my lord, I do wish to help these people get on their way."

"Oh, yes of course. I apologize."

"Nay, do not. Were you yourself not resting?"

"Aye, I was, but it was an ill-attempt. So rather I rose and helped with the moving of bodies. In fact, I am still supposed to be helping." The Third Marshall smiled sheepishly, and Alandria found herself smiling back at the handsome, flushed features of the lord.

"Well then both of us should return to our duties. We will have time again to talk." Éomer nodded, and Alandria gestured for him to go away. "On now, my lord. Until tonight."

He smiled gently again and bowed his head, backing away. "Aye, my lady. Good day."

Evening had just arrived when Alandria was pulled from her current task of helping in the Healing Ward by Legolas. He pointed out to her the time, and she quickly understood. "Are we to leave now?" She asked, washing dried blood from her hands in a small basin.

"Soon, I believe. The King rose but a short while ago, and immediately called for his horse to be saddled and Lord Éomer I just passed and he was doing the same with his steed. I sent Gimli with him to get Arod ready, but I doubt the Dwarf will be of much use with a horse." The Elf smiled slightly. "Gandalf bid me to find and inform you, so you can ready as well."

"Thank you, Legolas. Where is Aragorn? Is he ready too?" She had just noticed that the Ranger-healer was not in the room tending to anyone.

"Gandalf retrieved him not but ten minutes ago. We had thought you saw, and would be on your way, but when there was no sign of you or your horse, I was sent." He smiled again. "But now we must go."

"I am sorry I paid so little attention. Just the work.."

"It is alright, Alandria. But come, I sent for your horse to be readied before I came. He should be done now." The Elf began to stride out of the Healing Ward, and Alandria followed with a sigh. "We are setting out from the entrance of the Keep. Dustling will be there." She simply nodded in reply, and followed quickly. The two travelers of the Fellowship arrived at the Keep within a matter of minutes, and just as the Elf had foretold, there stood the King Théoden, Lord Éomer, Gandalf the White, Lord Aragorn, and little Master Gimli, all ready and waiting. Théoden and Gandalf spoke quietly, as did Éomer and Aragorn, while Gimli stood by himself, his arms resting atop his axe.

"We're here." Alandria announced briskly. "Sorry for the delay, I was occupied." They all nodded, and the keen blue-green eyes of the Ranger studied her carefully. Alandria turned away, towards a saddled and bridled Dustling, in discomfort. With ease, she pulled herself up into the saddle and there sat patiently, patting her horse's neck for a moment as the others mounted.

"You all know we ride for Isengard." Gandalf announced, glancing at each of them sternly. "It should take but the night's ride, and by tomorrow's sun we will behold the dark fortress of Isengard, and the White Wizard, Saruman. I need not warn you of what power he still holds. Tomorrow, everything will truly begin. Now - with haste!" And at his words, Shadowfax the Great bolted in a blaze of white, the Wizard firm upon his back. The others followed, not as swiftly but swift enough, and fled Helm's Deep in the clatter of hooves.

They rode down the sloping bridge, to the plains that stretch before the Deep, and to the shadow of trees that lie there. Their horses stopped when they approached the forest, and all eyed the darkness warily. The trees were dark green, and black, and menacing as they curved at odd angles and twined together. The memory of what fate had befallen the Uruk-hai not but hours ago was fresh in all their minds, and none wished to test the wood. But the White Wizard felt no fear, nor did his wonderful steed, and on they led into the unnatural forest. The trees seemed to part for the shining Wizard, and Aragorn followed steadily behind, followed by Théoden and then Éomer, next Legolas and Gimli. Alandria brought up the rear.

Their journey through the dense forest was not terribly long, although long enough for most of the passing party. The air was heavy and hot, and too close, suffocating. Alandria could not wait to reach the other side. Most of the others seemed to share her unease, especially the Dwarf, who stared around at the trees as if he expected an ambush of Orcs to come from their depths. Gandalf of course seemed unphased by the entire wood, and led them quietly. Legolas was fascinated by the trees, continually eyeing certain shapes and forms deep within them, and talking quietly to himself, or the Dwarf, Alandria was not sure. But the Elf seemed at incredible ease in the dark forest, and when they finally approached the clean light of open land, he gazed back at the woods with sorrow in his pale blue eyes.

"Come, Legolas." Gandalf called from ahead. "There may be time for you to explore such woods later, but now we have a task at hand. And you may still meet the intriguing creatures of that wood yet. Come along, now." The Elf glanced at the Wizard, then turned once more to the forest and stared for a long moment, as the company waited expectantly.

"Come on laddie, let's go. Y'heard Gandalf, you can visit with your trees later. Now I'd like to be getting elsewhere!" Gimli grumbled, hoping to persuade his riding partner and friend.

Slowly, the Elf nodded and turned the horse back to the line, even though his eyes still held regret. "Yes. We have other work to do first."

Alandria watched the fair immortal curiously but said nothing, following silently just as before. Night had fallen now, but where the lands should have been black, there was a faint, glowing red light coming from the West, towards Isengard. They pointed their journey in it's direction, just as the pale moon rose, it's silver sheen of light contrasting harshly with the black night and red glows of burning. They rode leisurely though, shifting from walk to trot continually, and on the edge of four hours since their departure from the forest, they came upon the Fords of the River Isen. However, had they not known where precisely they were, they may have mistaken the River for not even existing. It was known to be rushing and full, but now held barely a faint stream of water, as the rest was bare and bleak. In the moonlight the dirt held a hue of deathly grey, and what little grass was around it's bed seemed too pale.

"Has Saruman the power to destroy even the River Isen?" Éomer growled as they rode towards it's bare banks. "His evil is horribly cruel. It shall be a fine day tomorrow, when we can end his reign!"

"Curb your anger, Éomer. We know not what tomorrow may bring." Gandalf chided lightly, urging Shadowfax across the Ford. "Now come, there is an old highway ahead, and it shall take us on a clear route to Isengard. We must ride swiftly now though, so ride beside the road, where the ground is softer on your horse's feet!" The white steed and rider sped into a quick canter, and the rest of the company followed behind steadily.

The palely-lit night continued around them as they rode, and Alandria found a deep peace in the riding. Dustling loped steadily and smoothly, and was as relaxed as his Rider in the night. Alandria had truly missed the pleasure of riding on their long foot-journey from Rivendell, and although she knew they rode to dangers in the morning, her mind could not help but be at ease as they cantered peacefully along the dark grasslands. The speed of the horses turned their orderly line into a jumbled group of Riders and steeds, ever changing places, but always at ease. They followed the highway-road as it followed the river, first a little East, then North, and eventually straight towards Saruman's fortress. Night seemed to fall darker, and Alandria could feel the presence of the center of night, just as the day turned. It was here that Théoden raised his hand in signal, and all reined in their steeds to a stop.

"I am sorry, but I feel I must stop for the night. My horse is sweating, and my shoulder aches from the earlier wound." The King explained to them, and his face was lined with concealed discomfort. "I need to rest."

All eyes turned to Gandalf, and the Wizard nodded simply, before dismounting. "A rest will harm none of us, I think." Alandria was thankful for the Wizard's acception as, though she never would have admitted it, the slash on her right leg throbbed painfully from the riding. Once the Wizard spoke, however, Alandria caught sight of a stream of dark smoke coming from the West. It shimmered and glinted silver in the pale moonlight, but was dark underneath.

"There is smoke, there to the West." She said, and all turned to gaze upon it.

"What is it?" Asked Gimli quietly.

"Evil of Saruman, no doubt." Éomer grumbled, but Gandalf shook his head.

"Nay, I do not believe this is his doing. But no matter, tomorrow we shall find out. Rest now, I will take first watch."

All obeyed the Wizard, and camped meagerly beside the still-bare River. They made no fire, and ate nothing, only laid down to rest. Alandria again tried to refrain from sleeping, but had no excuse to keep her weary mind awake. She tried to focus on the cold, uncomfortable ground, but slowly still, in the dark silence of the night, her eyes slid unwillingly shut. The unwanted sleep that befell her was dark and still in the beginning, surprisingly peaceful and deep. But then came sharp images of a dark, stone pathway between walls of a mountain; an unexplainable glimmer of pearl against a pale mountain, so bright it could not clearly be seen; the dark chain of black mountains, glowering fire behind them; strong horses and tall, helmed men galloping towards a battle, and the chilling screech of something horribly foul; then a huge, black, winged beast feeding on the carcass of a white horse. The flashes of unknown scenes repeated, blurring into one scene of mountains and darkness and Riders and death.

Alandria was shocked awake by the cry of Legolas, who had been on watch. All others jumped awake around her, and she fought to control her breathing, wiping away the faint sheen of sweat across her face before any noticed. The dream made no sense, but it frightened her in an unexplainable way. In a way that felt as if she'd had the dream, or something very simliar, before. Her heartbeat slowed though, as she turned her attention to the Elf. But she could hardly see him. The moon had vanished, leaving only the faint glitter of stars overhead. In the darkness though, she became suddenly aware of a menacing, black mass slowly coming towards the company, rolling North. Alandria grasped her sword, still sheathed at her hip, and freed it from it's binding. Éomer, who was nearby, followed suit, and Gimli clung to his large axe.

"At ease!" Gandalf called, a faint, pale glow before them. "Re-sheath your weapons and let it pass by! It will not harm us."

Slowly, Alandria, Éomer, and Gimli did as the Wizard bade, and waited tensely for the unnerving shadow to pass. It overbore them, blocking out all but the fewest stars overhead, and wrapping them in grey mist and black shadow. Odd whispers and rustling came from the depths of the darkness, and it terrified Alandria to her depths, but she held still. Steadily the darkness passed, leaving the company once more alone in the pale night.

Although Gandalf assured them they would be fine and have no more trouble during the night, none could now sleep - Alandria least of all, the nightmare still heavy on her mind. She sat silently, as did they all, each staring at nothing and deep in their own thoughts. Until, some short time later, a deep rumble was heard. Each of the travellers looked at each other in question, but none said anything. Gimli reached for his axe again, but then they saw it - the River of Isen was re-filling, and what had previously been a rumble became a rush and gurgle of free water flowing over the empty bed. It seemed to come from nowhere, and brought more confusion to all their minds, but the gentle stream's chatter was a small comfort in the dark.


	14. Welcome To Isengard

**I'll probably be posting these next few chapters fairly quickly, cause a) the end of this week is the end of my semester, and even with finals coming, I was able to write a lot of Thanksgiving Break, and b) I want to get up the chapter where _something_ finally happens between Alandria and Eomer by Christmas for you all :) And you know what would spur on me to post/write even quicker? Reviews! lol some, please? I hate to beg, but you've all really no idea how helpful they are... Take care xx**

**Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Dawn came unexpectedly and none too swiftly, being only a pale glow in the dark mist that shrouded them all. They saddled and mounted quietly, all still unnerved by whatever had passed them in the short hours of the night. Alandria did not mention her nightmare, or the tremors it still sent through her. Instead she followed again at the rear of their group as they trod slowly on the highway, marching the final short distance to Isengard. The land should have been green and lush, pleasant to look upon, but the torment of Saruman had ruined it. Now it was dark and dying, riddled with thorns, cruel weeds, and axe-hewn tree stumps. It reeked of burning, and smoke and steam drifted everywhere, even as the River of Isen muttered through it. Alandria couldn't help but wonder if they truly were headed towards anything hopeful, and anything alive. They continued to march for another several miles, before coming upon a wider road, set with greater skill. Gandalf told them all that Isengard lie near ahead, but they could not see through the thick mist.

Eventually they came to the disturbing figure of a White Hand, it's nails painted a gruesome red and stained with blood. Gandalf led them steadily on, to the walls of Isengard. The mists cleared as they approached the great fortress, and they could see the bright sun high above, signalling noon. The came to the Gates, and stared in surprise at the sight before them. The stone and metal of the Gates and surrounding wall was broken and torn, twisted and ripped from it's original placement. The Gates were destroyed and the way was open to their passing, allowing them through and into the dwelling of the White Wizard. Their horses sloshed through knee-high waters, water that flowed slowly and was everywhere, as if a sudden flood had claimed the blackened land. It was murky and brown, and the steam they had seen before rose slowly from it. Ruined pieces of civilization floated past them: trunks, bits of foul clothing, cauldrons and ropes. All seemed barren and ruined before them, and was only enhanced by the sight of the Great Tower of Orthanc standing high above them. The Tower was menacing, as was it's purpose, and stood hundreds of feet high, it's black spikes jutting crudely towards the sky. It seemed made of black stone that shone faintly, as if it was metal too. There was not a scratch on it's hard surface, save for the curves and slices left from it's making. It seemed impenatrable, and indestrucible, and held a darkness that disturbed Alandria to her depths. Everything about the Tower was ruined and dying, save for the Tower itself. It might as well stand forever.

Then suddenly, one of the most unusual sights she would never have expected caught her attention. Two hobbits lay leisurely on a mound of broken wall, various foods and drinks scattered about them, mugs of ale in hand. They each held a pipe as well, smoke drifting lazily from it's mouth. None would have thought that they were indeed the two hobbits that had been captured and left in the care of a group of monstorous Uruk-hai, and then trekked for leagues with a tree for a guide. For they seemed far too peaceful to have possibly been the same hobbits, and their smiles and laughter were oddly out of place amidst the crumbles of Isengard. But it was indeed them - Merry, with his curly blonde hair and crooked jaw; Pippin, his curls more brown, and an impish smile about him. They noticed the arrivals with equal surprise, grinning, Pippin laughing and raising a tankard of drink to them, Merry clambering to his feet. Their eyes roved eagerly over the faces they knew, and then both halted when they came to Alandria. She held their gazes firmly, registering the disappearance of their smiles once they saw her, and the mixture of emotions behind their eyes. They knew what they had left behind for her to find; who had fallen to protect them. They did not know how she had reacted, but they could guess. Their unnervement lasted only a breath, and quickly both looked away from her, turning back to the newcomers before them.

"Welcome, my Lords!" Exclaimed Merry, holding his arms high, a drunken smile on his face. "To Isengard!"

"You young rascals!" Growled Gimli, from behind Legolas. "You've led us on, and now we find you feasting and..and smoking!"

"We are sitting," Pippin began to argue around a mouthful of salted meat. "on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly delicious." He smirked at the Dwarf, waving his pipe.

"Salted pork.." Gimli gasped, and Alandria swore she could hear his mouth begin to salivate.

Gandalf muttered something, but was not heard as Merry continued. "We're under orders from Treebeard, who has taken over management of Isengard."

"And where might we find Master Treebeard, if you two fools are willing to pause your lounging for a moment?" The Wizard growled, only receiving grins from his listeners.

"He's waiting, at the Tower."

"Well then come on you two, we haven't all day! Pippin, with Aragorn. Merry, with Éomer." The two riders named obeyed and rode forth, much to Merry's relief as he hadn't the slightest idea who Éomer might be. Each hobbit carefully climbed from their perch in the rubble to behind the riders, on the horses' backs. Gandalf nodded, then turned and led them to the dark, looming tower.

Alandria surveyed the continued ruin in awe, seeing fallen and destroyed machinery and buildings, all drowned in the ruddy water. Then came a low, rumbling groan from ahead, and she raised her eyes towards it - only to nearly fall off her horse. Before them stood a huge creature - fourteen feet tall or more, and appearing exactly like a tree - except that it was moving. It was immense, and bizarre, and frighteningly fascinating. And it began to speak, slow, deep, and halting. "Mmm...young Master Gandalf. I'm..mmm..glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a Wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."

They all stared up at the tall Tower, each cautious and wondering just where and why Saruman was hiding. "Show yourself." Aragorn was the first to mutter, but was silenced by Gandalf.

"Be careful. Even in defeat Saruman is dangerous."

"Then let's just have his head and be done with it!" Gimli growled.

"No!" Gandalf countered. "We need him alive. We need him to talk."

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards." The voice came from above them, and although soft, it carried to them with ease. It seemed to Alandria like it was the gentlest voice she'd heard in ages, comforting, and reassuring. It held promise, and knowledge, and she wanted to trust it. But the figure that appeared over the highest balcony of Orthanc ruined the voice's sway, and she was left only with the knowledge that it was his Uruks that had attacked at Amon Hen, and a fire of hate seethed through her blood. The White Wizard was no longer White, but robed in a variety of constantly shifting colors, unnerving and dazzling to the eye. He leaned on a black staff with a white crystal at the top, and his long, thin face seemed stretched with weariness. His hair and beard were white, like Gandalf's, but unlike Gandalf's they lacked the pureness of good. Instead, they were dark grey at the edges near his face, and somehow that simple color ruined his appearance, showing him to evil, as they all knew he truly was.

"Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

"We will have peace." Théoden answered, much to Alandria's alarm. But a glance towards the King showed firm features and dark eyes, not obedience. "We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold, and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the bodies of the soldiers, who's bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from a chibbet, for the sport of your own crows..we shall have peace!" Alandria smirked faintly, wanting to applaud her King on his defiant speech, but held her tounge as the Dark Wizard spoke again.

"Chibbets and crows?" The Wizard snarled. "Dotard! What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess - the Key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad-dur itself? Along with the Crowns of the Seven Kings and the Rods of the Five Wizards?!"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives," countered Gandalf. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman! You were deep in the enemy's counsel."

The Wizard above them smiled cruelly. "So you have come here for information? I have some for you." And he pulled from his robes a dark globe that just fit in his palm, and swirled and twisted with fiery light inside. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-earth - something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it! Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You're all going to die." He sneered, pleased by the fear Alandria could see he was invoking on the hobbits. Gandalf did not answer, other to walk Shadowfax closer to the Black Tower. "But you know this, don't you Gandalf?" Saruman continued. "You cannot think that this _Ranger_ will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor! This exile crept from the shadows will never be crowned King! Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him - those he professes to _love_." The Wizard still smirked, amused by the fears he was slowly striking into each of them, and turned to Gandalf himself. "Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the Halfing before you sent him to his doom? The path you have set him on can only lead to death." The Wizard smiled slightly, but Gimli growled.

"I've heard enough! Shoot him." He encouraged Legolas, and the Elf slowly reached for an arrow from his quiver. "Stick an arrow in his gob!"

"No!" Gandalf stopped them firmly, turning his eyes back up to the Wizard upon the Tower. "Come down Saruman! And your life will be spared."

"Save your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!" Saruman cried, and thrust his staff's bottom towards them. A shaft of flame burst from it, and flew down towards the White Wizard and his White Steed, before enveloping them. The surrounding horses whinnied and spooked, dancing away from the spontaneous flames. They all shielded their eyes from the burst of light and heat, turning away from it in surprise. But in an instant, it disappeared - leaving the Wizard and his horse whole and uncharred, standing still and staring boldly back at the offender on the Tower.

"Saruman," Gandalf cried up. "Your staff is broken." And it was, for the black pole in the traitor's hand seemed to shake, before quickly bursting into pieces, and falling to the foot of the Tower he stood upon. Just as the staff was destroyed, a lowly black wretch crawled into view, cowering beside the White Wizard.

"Gríma!" Théoden called, recognizing the creature that poisoned his mind. But there was no anger in his voice - rather, he seemed relieved. "You need not follow him! You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan!"

"A man of Rohan?" Saruman leered. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where briggards drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs?! The victory does at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-master! You are the lesser son of greater sires." Théoden was silent, where faint realization and sorrow tinted his features.

"You speak lightly for one restrained to his Tower!" Alandria snarled, a flash of the anger that had been simmering unleashing in her King's defense. "You would be dead where you stand, if you might not serve some use in the end!"

"Alandria!" Gandalf snapped, aggravated and secretly worried. "Control yourself."

Saruman just smirked, as although without his staff to draw a sense of power from, he still found pride in the obvious aggravation from Alandria. "Yes, Lady-Rider, control yourself. You wouldn't want me to send you to join your little Captain of Gondor, would you?" He smiled wider as she flinched visibly, and although she knew he no longer had such power, dropped his gaze. "But then again, perhaps you would.."

"That's enough, Saruman!" Gandalf was ever in charge, controlling the conversation, as his sharp blue eyes pierced the Wizard still looming above them. To all their surprise, the corrupted Wizard obeyed and was silenced.

"Gríma," Théoden spoke, after a moment of silence among the company. "come down. Be free of him."

"Free?!" Snarled Saruman. "He will never be free!" Gríma looked up at the Wizard beside him, and his lips moved in a defiance Alandria could not hear, but understood. "Cur!" Spat Saruman, loud enough for them to clearly hear, and brought his hand swiftly across Wormtounge's face, knocking him to the ground with a cry. As much as she hated the Wizard, Alandria felt faintly pleased to see the Snake beaten down so.

"Saruman!" Gandalf called again, regaining the Wizard's attention. "You were deep in the enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"

"You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here!"

In that instant, two sudden things happened. Gríma appeared behind the Wizard and leapt on his back, thrusting a knife deep into his shoulder and back, stabbing twice. Then Legolas suddenly had an arrow on his bow, and loosed it, so that it sunk into the Snake's chest. The slimy, black, cowering traitor stumbled backwards and fell, dying slowly and out of their sight. The traitorous Wizard, however, toppled forward, off his great Tower, and began to tumble head over heels in a flash of shifting robe-colors, ever falling and falling, before landing with a sickening thud on his back, on a spiked wheel of his own making. The company stared in shock and horror, Merry covering his mouth with his hand, Alandria's lip only twitching in a grimace. The White Wizard, at last, was dead.

"Send word to all our allies," Gandalf spoke to Théoden. "and to every corner of Middle-earth that still stands free - the Enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike."

The wheel he had landed upon began to turn then, and slowly the body of Saruman was drawn under the ugly water. Alandria watched the body slowly disappear, her green gaze glittering for a moment with joy. She blinked, as something seemed to slip from the Wizard's sleeve, and fall into the water. She could not discern it's proper color though, or shape, and once the body had disappeared, looked away as Treebeard's voice boomed again.

"The filth of Saruman, is washing away..Trees will come back to live here. Young trees, wild trees.."

"Pippin!" Aragorn's voice broke the slow murmur of the Ent, and all turned their attention to the little hobbit who had abandoned his seat behind the Ranger. The little man waded in waist-high water over to where Saruman and his Death Wheel lay, and he bent over, his arms plunging into the dark water. He stood straight again, and held the object that had fallen from the Wizard's cloak - the _palantír_, Seeing Stone of Númenor. Alandria knew what it was, although she had never seen one until now, and watched with keen interest as the dark blue ball appeared to have inside it a faint, twisting, fiery light.

"Bless my bark!" Exclaimed Treebeard, in his slow way.

"Peregrin Took! I'll take that, my lad." Gandalf spoke from beside the _hobytla_, having ridden over to see what the curious being had found. He extended his hand, and Pippin glanced at him for but a moment, before gazing back at orb in his hands. "Quickly now!" Encouraged the Wizard, and slowly the hobbit turned over his discovery. The Wizard snatched it away swiftly, and just as swiftly wrapped it deep in a cloth the same color as his pale robes. He turned Shadowfax to walk away, but not before giving the hobbit one last, long, hard stare. Pippin bowed his head and turned away in submission, and the Wizard rode away. Alandria continued to watch the little man, and saw in surprise, he turned back to glare at the Wizard's retreating form, before Aragorn lifted him back into his saddle.

"Thank you, Fangorn my old friend. I trust you will take care of matters here." Gandalf spoke to the great Ent again.

"Indeed, we shall." Replied the monstorous creature. "Isengard will no longer..mmm..be a feared place. _Barooom._ The Ents will stay."

Gandalf bowed his head for a moment, then turned back towards the ruined Gates. "We ride back for Edoras, and quickly. I hope we shall be there by the early evening tomorrow at the latest. Now come!" Again Shadowfax, Lord of the _Mearas,_ lept forward faster than a white arrow, and the others were quick to follow.


	15. Alive

******This post is kinda lengthy, but the next will probably be even longer 'cause I'm hoping to cram in some interaction between Alandria and Eomer for you readers lol. I feel like I owe you some, and soon. I don't know if I'll get it posted by Christmas, but if not, hopefully very close to then!**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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The Riders' horses raced back across the barren, grey land they had already passed, along the lonely highway, and then through the properly-gushing Fords of Isen. They crossed the river in the depth of night, and once again made camp beside it. This time they allowed a small fire, for the sake of the hobbits, and had a small meal of what foods the hobbits had scrounged from the lockers of Saruman. There was bread, and salted meats, and fresh vegetables, and apples. The two scoundrels had even thought to fill their water skins with the ale they found, and kindly shared drinks with any that wished. It was a merrier stay at the river-side than had been before, warmer and friendlier, even though they all knew much worry and darkness still lay ahead. The company murmured quietly around mouthfuls of food, all except Alandria.

She ate naught but a chunk of bread and an apple, yet the knowledge that the food came from the White Wizard caused it to taste odd and churn her stomach once done. But she ate for the sake of catching the Ranger's pale eyes watching her, and hoped to ease his worry. Her small meal did little to reassure him though of course, and he still was concerned. She did not drink any of the offered ale, having had enough of Saruman's stores, and instead drank from the nearby river. The water was cold, but not icy, and a relief on her dry throat. Alandria was moderately comfortable after the forced meal and drink, and sat by herself a few feet from the group at the fire, leaning against her saddle and watching the darkness with the Gondorian cloak about her shoulders. The rest of the travellers were busy listening to the hobbits account of what had occured at Isengard, and she listened with faint interest, eyes still on the black of night.

"I told Treebeard to take us south, past Isengard, thinking the closer we were to Saruman the less he'd think to look for us there." It was Pippin speaking, but Merry soon interrupted.

"What was it y'told him, Pip? Something about close to danger and farther from hurt or somethin'?"

"'The closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm.' That's what I said, yes, and I don't right think it made sense to the old guy, but Treebeard did it anyway."

"Good thing too, cause then we come out of the forest, and there's all these dead trees everywhere! Just stumps, actually, and the land was black. We all knew it was Saruman's doing, and Treebeard got real angry - least, as close to it as he can get, I think."

"Hasty, Merry, he got hasty!"

"Right! Hasty! Well then he made this sound, this call sort of thing, and out of the forest came all these other Ents too! Treebeard said they were going to war! So then we all marched down to Isengard, and the Ents set to work detroyin' it."

"And how in the world did they manage that, Master Merry?" Asked Gimli.

"They just tore it apart, of course!"

"Oh yes, they're mighty strong, for bein' like big trees." Explained Pippin. "They ripped through those walls like bread, and hurled boulders like hobbit-sized stones! It was horrifying."

"Magnificent, really."

"Well yes, that too."

"Oh then they opened up the dam Saruman had built, and let loose the River. It came out with the strength of a waterfall, I swear, and me and Pip 'ere had to hold on to Treebeard for our lives! But it put out the fires, and drowned most anything that was left on the ground."

"And Saruman didn't try to stop this?" It was Éomer's voice now, deep and dark.

"Well of course he did," Answered Merry. "But there wasn't much he could do against the Ents. His orcs tried, but were near useless other than setting a few of the Ents on fire and even then, once the river came out, they were extinguished. He was stuck up in his Tower, and watched it all unfurl."

Pippin sniggered. "He didn't seem too happy, eh Merry?"

Merry laughed shortly as well. "Not a'tall."

"And what about all the food and goods?" Gimli wanted to know.

"Well some of it just started floatin' by us." Pippin replied. "Apples and the like. So we followed the trail, like good hobbits, and came across a whole room packed with it! Meats and breads and vegetables and fruits and ales and even some Old Toby!"

"Ahh, Old Toby."

"Two barrels there were, one for the each of us we thought eh?"

"Right on. But us bein' rational, didn't figure Gandalf would willingly let us each drag along a barrel of pipeweed, and just filled our pouches instead. Shame really, leavin' all that behind."

"Better than we could have hoped for though, you suppose Merry?"

"True, Pip. Anyway, the rest of that story you each know. Satisfied now?"

"As much as we will ever be, I assume." Aragorn answered now, voice soft as always and a faint smile on his lips.

"And what happened with you all, Aragorn?" Pippin's voice asked. "How is it that you four arrived at Isengard, with two strangers - pardon, milords - when we last saw you all by the River those many days ago? We thought that surely there was no chance for you to survive if Boro-" The hobbit stopped, and there was silence. The lack of words caught Alandria's attention, and her eyes ceased roving the deep darkness to turn towards the orange flames, and the faces they lit. She was surprised to see all shining eyes gazing in her direction, save for Aragorn and Legolas, who's gazes were focused on the ground. She understood their silence and their hesitant - although those of Éomer and Théoden purely curious and confused - stares, and shifted, turning further away from the conversation.

The uneasy silence drew on a moment more, until a soft sigh broke it. "It was but days of running, and then battles. Lesser important matters, ones that can be spoken of later. Now, gentlemen, how about sharing some of that Old Toby with your friends?" Aragorn's soft voice smoothed out the tension, and eased the sudden caution, as the chatter picked up again, jumbled and quiet, and Alandria paid no more attention.

The long-parted friends spoke quietly and eagerly, Éomer and Théoden watching and listening in faint amusement at the tales and memories they themselves did not know. Soon Théoden was drawn away to talk quietly with Gandalf, who had stayed silent through it all, choosing only to listen and watch. Éomer was taken by Aragorn, to talk matters of battle and war. The hobbits entertained Gimli and Legolas eagerly though, and the Elf and Dwarf spoke with them with joy. Soon however, the two Halflings and the Dwarf settled into comfortable, tired, quiet smoking and the Elf chose to go for a walk, leaving them in peace. The stout Dwarf was more content than he had been in days, full of good food and liquor, smoking a well-stuffed pipe, and warm around a fire, in company of his friends. It did not take long for him to drift to sleep in his silence, and soon the clay pipe dangled loosely from his snoring lips. Merry and Pippin took a moment to notice and smiled when they did, before both exchanging a certain look, and glancing over at Alandria.

She did not see their look, nor was aware of what the others were doing, but she did hear their approach. She looked up sharply, and then shifted when they settled down beside her. She pulled the fur-lined cloak tighter about her, as if it could help banish the tension she felt between them. There was silence for a long moment, and slowly, her deep green eyes flicked to their young faces. Merry was watching her, his blue gaze gentle and concerned. Pippin's pale green eyes were nervous, flitting from each of their faces to the ground, and back. He squirmed uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry." Merry finally spoke, straight to the point. "_We're_ sorry."

"Sorry?" She asked, her voice faint as her gaze unconsciously wandered back to the distant, hidden lands around them. "Sorry about Boromir?"

"Yes." The hobbit's voice was even fainter than her's, just a whisper.

Alandria nodded, looking down. "So am I."

"We're so sorry, Alandria." Pippin spoke finally, his voice almost pleading. "We can't believe...it just...can't.."

"Everyday since it happened," Merry interrupted his stuttering friend. "We've wondered if you all made it out alive. And if you did, we wondered how...if...if you were..okay."

Alandria looked up at the hobbits - Pippin's pale eyes finally holding hers, desperate and worried; Merry's blue ones also worried, sad. "Well, we are alive. And I'm....." Her sentence hung there in the air, unfinished for a long moment as she fought to find a word that made sense, that maybe fit. But there was none. "Alive."

They watched her, understanding her weak response, and each sorrowed for her, feeling guilty. "He died for us, milady." Merry spoke again. "He fought long, and hard - much harder than we would have thought possible. He felled more Uruks than he seemed capable of. He died doing something good, milady, but we're sorry. We know how you felt about him."

Alandria struggled to find an answer within her control, but it was a near useless task. She took a deep breath, it was shaky and hinted tears, but she contained herself. "I hold nothing against you, little _hobytlas_. Never think that I did. I only wish I could have done more."

"I suppose nothing could have been done, my lady." Merry replied gently, and she nodded weakly.

"No, perhaps not... Thank you though, my friends. Thank you." Her dark eyes held each of their's firmly, and they were oddly comforted by the strength she faintly showed. "Now, we all should get some sleep. Go on." The weakest of smiles turned the edge of her mouth, and they nodded, stood and each stepped forward to embrace her. Alandria was caught off guard, and the hobbits hadn't expected it either, but clung to her firmly nonetheless. She took a second, but slowly returned the embrace, glad for their security.

"Sleep well, milady." Merry murmured, before letting go and wandering silently back over to his spot by the fire.

Pippin released her as well and stood before her for a second, pale green eyes still worried. "I'm sorry, again."

"Don't be."

He nodded, but didn't seem to change. "Goodnight." He finally answered, and shuffled over to Merry, his normally cheerful features still and melancholy.

Alandria sighed, surprised by the sudden onslaught of words and apologies and emotions, and drained from it all. But she would not sleep tonight, not again. Instead she turned back towards the night, letting her mind take her away from this place and time, into better memories.

Only a select few of the company noticed the exchange. They saw the two little hobbits return to their seats by the fire, far more somber and silent than would have been thought possible. Eyes of a gentle turquiose and a dark, concerned hazel both saw the dark-haired lady stay by herself, her eyes turned Northward, and the glint of silent fallen tears upon her face.

* * *

All slept that night, save for Alandria. Even the White Wizard and watchful Elf appeared to get some rest. But not her, she couldn't, not with the threat of more nightmares. Merry and Pippin's spontaneous apology left her busy to think anyway, and her thoughts were elsewhere as the slow hours of the night passed. At the rise of dawn each awoke of their own accord, and quietly saddled and mounted for the rest of their ride to Edoras. They raced quickly across the plains, all eager now to be back in the safety and comfort of the Golden Hall. Their horses ran seemingly tirelessly, but they halted at noon for the hobbits hungered and the enduring steeds could use a rest. The break was short: they each dismounted, and ate a quick meal of bread and salted meat - except for Alandria. She could not bear the thought of eating anymore of the cursed Wizard's food. She remained silent amid their brief, quiet talking, and none questioned her, even those that did not understand. And then they mounted once more, and rode at a steady canter under the sun.

They had slowed to an even trot as the hours of afternoon waxed, but just as the first tint of evening came, the great city of Edoras was seen, resting snugly on it's grand hill. An exchange of words was not needed, as each Rider nudged their steed into a quick gallop. The horses were eager to be home, and readily gave what strength they had left, their hoof beats eating up the golden grass.

The Gates of Edoras opened willingly before the company, and hails of "The King returns!" "The great warriors have arrived!" and "Théoden King!" sounded. They dis mounted, and both Théoden and Éomer smiled at the crowds of greeting peoples, nodding their heads before quickly retreating up to the doors of Meduseld, Gandalf just behind. Alandria let a stable hand take Dustling from her, and stood awkwardly for a moment before Aragorn rested a hand on her arm to get her attention, and gestured towards the Great Golden Hall. She followed, flanked by Legolas, Gimli, and the two hobbits.

Inside the Hall, Éowyn and several guards, including Gamling, eagerly awaited their arrival. Gamling was already speaking with Théoden, and Éowyn embraced her brother. Merry and Pippin stood awkwardly, unsure who the people around them were, and slightly uncomfortable in the unknown surroundings. Alandria noticed, and quickly found a couple maids standing idle nearby.

"Can you find these two some food please?" She asked the girls, a hand on each of the hobbit's shoulders. "And I'm sure they wouldn't mind a bath."

The girls eyed the little hobbits curiously, but nodded. "Aye miss, we will." one answered, and they both gestured at the hobbits. "Come along then, we'll get ya cleaned and made content."

Both Merry and Pippin were glad for a bath and some more food, but Merry hesitated, looking up at Alandria. "What do we do afterwards?"

"We have a celebration." Théoden's voice answered, and they all turned to him.

"But I thought once here, we were supposed to decide what to do next - with the war and all."

"That can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, we honor those that fell, and celebrate our victory." He smiled gently down at the hobbits. "There shall be food and drink, and perhaps you two can provide some songs and cheer, hm?"

The hobbits exchanged a look, and grin, before looking back up at the yellow-haired King and nodding. "Aye, sounds good to us." Merry agreed.

"Well then hurry along and get yourselves cleaned up!" Théoden urged. "It shall begin in but a little while."

The hobbits now eagerly raced off, and Alandria watched them go with a smile, before turning back to her king and the group that surrounded him. "Are we truly having a celebration?"

"Of course, Alandria. We have every right for one, don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"And so we shall. Once each of us here has bathed, dressed for the event, and is ridden of weariness, we shall begin. Gamling, inform all men of the city of the event, as they all fought in the same battle. Tell them a horn will sound when it all shall begin." The King's guard bowed and disappeared out of the Hall. "And the rest of you gathered here - I cannot thank you enough for your aid in the Battle of Helm's Deep. Lord Aragorn, you encouraged me to ride out as a warrior, as a King should. Masters Legolas and Gimli, your skills were greatly appreciated, more than you could know. Master Gandalf, and Éomer, my sister-son, you both brought hope with you, and victory. Thank you. And Alandria, my dear, you should not have been there, but I am glad. You fought bravely, your father would be proud." Alandria bowed her head, ignoring the surprised glance Aragorn cast her, and Théoden finished. "Now each of you can retire to the chamber of your choosing, and I will be sure to send servants to take care of you. Meet back here in the Hall, once ready." And he bowed his head to them all, before retreating to his own chambers.

Each of the company quickly dispersed, Éowyn included, obeying the King's commands. Alandria was finding her way to the chamber she had used at her last stay in the Hall, but was stopped at a hand on her arm. She started in surprise, and turned to face her opponent. It was Aragorn, and his blue-green eyes stared into her green ones intensely.

"Aragorn?" She asked in confusion.

"Your father is dead?" He bluntly asked, and she flinched slightly before nodding. "In the battle?....how?"

Alandria shifted and dropped his gaze, lowering her voice. "He fell to...to defend you."

"Me?" Her reply was clearly a shock to the Ranger, and he released his hold, pale eyes widening in horror. "How do you know this?"

"Legolas. He saw."

"And neither of you thought to tell me?"

"We did not want to...burden you."

"Burden me? Alandria," He held her shoulders gently now, forcing her to look into his gentled eyes. "Your father died protecting me, whom he hardly knew. Because of that, you have lost another one you love. You have no family now. I think I deserve to be burdened." She remained silent, unsure what to say, suddenly struck by the horror of what the Ranger had just said. She had no family. No Boromir. Other than the Man before her, the Elf, Dwarf, and perhaps the little hobbits elsewhere, she had no one.

"It does not matter." She finally answered, unaware of what exactly she was even saying. "Things cannot be changed."

"Alandria," Aragorn's features grew concerned. "I am sorry if-"

"Please my lord, just let it be. I would like to get a bath now, if you do not mind. We must be ready for the celebration tonight." She carefully twisted out of his light hold, and backed away. "I will see you later, Aragorn."

He bowed his head, sighing, with nothing else to say. "Till later, my lady."


	16. Dwell In Memories

**It's ten o'clock Christmas night, and I'm managing to make an update! :D Not all that I wanted is included in this chapter, but it was already getting long so I'll let it be for now :) Anywho, I hope you all enjoy it, and have had very Merry Christmas_es_, each and every one of you, wherever you are! Cheers! xx**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

"You look beautiful milady! Although I do wish you woulds let me do your hair up all nice-like again. Really looked wonderful last time."

"Thank you, Lynwen, but I am more comfortable with it down. Not that your skill with the styling of hair isn't good, I am just simply more comfortable-"

"Like this." The maid finished for her. "Yes, yes, I know. Will you at least let me pull the front back, to keep it away from your pretty little face?"

Alandria sighed, and waved her hand lazily. "Alright, as you wish." Lynwen smiled, and immediately set to work pulling the first several strands of hair on each side of Alandria's face around to the back, and pinning them there firmly. "I still don't understand why you take orders from me, Lynwen." Alandria commented, and the maid simply chuckled.

"Because it's my duty, milady."

"Your duty to wait on a deceased soldier's daughter? I doubt that."

Lynwen shrugged, still fussing with Alandria's dark hair. "My duty to do as the King or other's of such nature command. And in your case, yes, it 'appens to be waiting on a deceased soldier's daugher- wait you mean your Da is dead?"

Alandria sighed again, softer this time, less frustrated. "Yes. He fell in the Battle, the one we're celebrating tonight."

"Ah dearie, I am sorry to hear that."

"Is no matter. I am not the only one that suffered a loss, most lost entire families.."

"True, it is a horror, what this battle left be'ind. And to think there'll likely be more yet!" Alandria didn't reply, and Lynwen noticed her silence. "Dark thoughts dear, sorry for expressin' them aloud. I must say though, this time I am glad you're a bit more conversational. Last time I hads you in 'ere, you acted like the lights were on but no one was 'ome! Bit unnervin', if you know what I mean."

Alandria smiled faintly. "Yes, I suppose I do. Sorry Lynwen, last time I-"

"No no dear, no apologizin'. Last time was dear Lord Théodred, this time it's your own father! I am surprised you're not the same as before! Harsh life, dear, eh?"

"Yeah." Alandria murmured, but wasn't sure if Lynwen heard. Either way, the talkative maid finally stepped back from Alandria, and the Lady-Rider took it as a sign that she was free. She stood, and then glanced at herself in the small looking-glass on the wall. Her dark hair fell in deep waves down her shoulders and chest, although more of her sun-goldened face was revealed than usual. Her deep green eyes were like emerald gems, lined with the black lashes, expressed by her slender dark brows. Her face was leaner than she remembered, and beneath her eyes, her pale skin was tinted darkly. Thankfully though, she did not look nearly as weary as she felt.

"See, what did I tell ya? Beautiful, milady." Alandria flushed at Lynwen's comments, and shook her head. "And the Lady Éowyn's dress looks marvelous on you, just as last time!"

Alandria looked down at the wine-colored dress. The deep red was soft, the long sleeves and corset-area even darker, and with rich gold embordiery twisting in knots of warm flowers down the shoulders. "Aye, it's beautiful. I only wish someday I could manage to have my own dresses look like this!" She chuckled half-heartedly, then sighed and looked back up at Lynwen. "Thank you."

"Nah, milady, is my duty, as I said." The elderly woman smiled kindly. "And my pleasure."

"Still, I thank you. You are very kind. And are you not joining us for the celebration tonight?"

"Nay, I've got kitchen duty. Making foods, taking dishes, and the like. Probably wouldn't be out there anyway. The going-ons in the Hall are not my kind of interest, if you understand."

Alandria smiled slightly. "Aye, I do. I hope then your kitchen duty is not too hectic, and you have at least a moment of peace to enjoy a good cup of mead."

Lynwen laughed. "Oh I'll be sure to do that, milady! Lords know I'll need it before the night is out! Now on with ya, girl. Don't want to keep anyone waitin'!"

"Alright Lynwen, alright. I'm on my way. Thank you, again."

"Pah." The maid waved her hand in dismissal, and opened the door, nudging Alandria out it. "On you go! I can hears people talkin' already!"

Alandria merely smiled in reply, hearing the voices herself, and stepped further out the door. It shut solidly behind her, and she smiled faintly, shaking her head. She took a breath then in unease, and smoothed out the already-smooth dress, then walked slowly down the hallway, towards the glow of firelight in the Hall. As she came nearer the voices were louder, and she was able to hear both Merry and Pippin, along with Gimli and Théoden. She rounded the large wooden pillar, and joined the company in the bright, fire-lit Golden Hall.

More pairs of eyes turned towards her than voices she had heard, and she realized that Lynwen had been right - she was running a little late. How was beyond her, but all already stood there in the hall - King Théoden, Lord Éomer, Lady Éowyn, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin. Gamling was there a moment, but at Théoden's nod, strode towards the doors of Meduseld. An instant later a clear note on a horn rang out. Several guards in the Golden Hall that had survived quickly appeared, and Alandria only then noticed many maids already bustling around, pulling out a few extra tables, and filling a table with mugs of ale and mead, another with meats, breads, and cheeses.

"So Lynwen was right then - I am late?" She asked, a slight smile on her lips.

"Nay, just on time." Théoden replied, smiling broadly. "We have not been here long. Your little _hobytla_ friends here arrived only just before you!"

"Not our fault we ain't had a proper bath in weeks." Merry huffed defiantly, but held his fierce posture for but a second, and then had his attention taken by Pippin, who'd spotted the drinks laid out. The rest of the company chuckled and smiled as the hobbits quickly made their way to the ale, spotting the food as well.

"I believe they're showing us how to properly celebrate!" Théoden chuckled, and then glanced up as the first several men of the town arrived through the Doors. He looked back at those near him and smiled, bowed his head, then turned and settled into his wooden throne, holding the appearance of his title with pride.

"You look lovely again, lass." Alandria looked down at the politely gruff voice beside her, and smiled gently.

"Thank you, Gimli." He nodded, and then shuffled away. Alandria looked back up and caught the warm blue gaze of Legolas, who bowed politely with a soft smile. Aragorn did the same, before wandering away to speak with a man that had recently arrived. Éowyn appeared beside Alandria then, smiling broadly.

"Thank you for the dress, my lady." Alandria murmured, still holding her slight smile.

"Of course, I am glad to share with you! Honestly, I am just glad you are alive."

Alandria flushed, embarrassed still about deserting her in the caves. "Éowyn I am sorry I left you. I was irrational, and could think of nothing else than to be part of that battle. I could not-"

"Nay," The golden-haired lady shook her head, still smiling, wide blue eyes untroubled. "It is understood."

"You are not angry?"

"I was, Alandria, I certainly was! But I remembered your words of a proper death, and understood. And now we have victory, and you are alive. There is no point in anger anymore."

Alandria smiled slightly more easily, warmed by her friend's understanding. "Thank you, milady."

"I only hope you don't give my sister any more foolish ideas."

Alandria started at the deep voice behind her, and turned, her eyes falling upon the tall figure of the Lord Éomer. She smiled nervously, and glanced back at Éowyn. "I don't think she needs my help for that, lord."

The man smiled, standing idle beside them, and Alandria was pleased to see him so much more relaxed than when she had first run into him those many days ago, on the plains. "True, no doubt. Perhaps than you shall help keep her out of whatever trouble they may cause?"

"I'll do my best, lord."

He smiled warmly again, and then his dark eyes brushed modestly down her body, before raising again to meet hers. "The dress looks lovely on you, my lady."

Alandria flushed slightly, smiling faintly. "Thank you, milord. Your sister was kind enough to lend it."

"I thought I recognized it. You look lovely in it." His dark eyes held hers, and they both fell silent, the dark hazel of his stare searching in her green gaze, curiousity clearly blazing.

"It looks as though uncle is about to make a speech," Éowyn interrupted the odd moment, and both Alandria and Éomer broke away, looking to the fair Lady. "I presume I should get him a drink, to raise with the men...pardon me." She smiled briefly at them both, and disappeared into the surprisingly dense crowd.

"Éowyn is right. Our uncle will likely make a speech now. I should go and be at his side. Excuse me, my lady." The tall Horse-lord bowed politely, and Alandria returned it as he made his way towards Théoden at the throne.

The room felt silent then, as others took notice of Théoden at his throne, Éomer standing proud behind him, to the right. Éowyn appeared before the throne and approached her uncle with a goblet of wine, bowing her head as she gave it to him. Alandria then realized she herself didn't yet have a drink, and turned in haste to get one. She was saved though by Legolas, as the fair Elf appeared at her elbow, a mug of mead extended. She smiled in relief, and whispered a thanks as she took the mug, then turned her attention back to Théoden, who stood gazing out at the many expectant faces before him.

He raised forward his drink, and Aragorn stood, triggering a reaction for all others in the Hall to stand as well, raising their drinks. "Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!"

"Hail!" All in the Hall echoed, and drank from their mugs. Alandria took a hearty drink from hers, long deprived of the taste of anything but water, and quietly sighed in content. Théoden said no more, choosing rather to let the men gathered enjoy themselves for the night, and not bring up the memories of the Battle, most of which were still too fresh.

Alandria saw Legolas still standing near her and smiled faintly. "And what activities shall receive your attentions tonight, Master Legolas?"

The Elf's blue gazed rovved around the room, already bustling with activity and filled with the chatter of content peoples, and he seemed faintly amused. "To watch foolish men drink themselves into oblivion sounds entertaining enough."

She laughed lightly. "No doubt it will be. Why don't you participate?"

"Participate in what?"

"Drinking!" A low gurgle of a reply came from beside them, and both Elf and Woman turned to see Gimli. "I challenge the little Elf-Prince here to a battle - of drink!" He chuckled then, already having had a few ales, but his request was heard.

"Will you take his challenge then?" Éomer asked Legolas, leaning against a barrel of ale.

Legolas studied both the Man and Dwarf for a moment, before slowly nodding. "Aye, I'll take whatever challenge my friend here presents." Alandria smiled to herself and shook her head, settling into a chair several feet away with a sigh.

"Good then." Éomer smiled, and filled up two mugs with drink, before handing them to his contesants. "No pauses, no spills-"

"And no regurgitations!" Gimli grinned, eagerly taking the mug, the drunken roar of spectators following.

"So it's a drinking game?" Legolas asked, appearing to have only just understood.

"Last one standing wins!" Gimli grinned again and chuckled, before slurping greedily at the ale. Legolas' drink was much more careful, just a sip, and then as he realized the drink was nothing to be feared, he gulped it down quickly. Gimli however was already done, and his fist thumped the table for another. Éomer quickly obliged, and then immediately handed Legolas another. Yet again the Dwarf gulped and slurped his down noisily, whereas Legolas was elegant as ever, the ale still quickly disappearing. Alandria snorted and looked away in disgust, taking another sip of her own sweeter drink.

Her gaze fell upon the fair Lady Éowyn, and she was sharing a drink with Aragorn. The two stared at each other for a long moment, and Alandria wished to clearly see both their faces, to perhaps understand what they both were thinking. Éowyn had not shown yet to be lessened in her adoration of the Ranger, and Alandria was never sure how he responded to the Lady's advances. She knew he would never forsake his lady in Rivendell, but Éowyn did not seem swayed. Théoden approached her friend then, as Aragorn stepped away. His gaze was kind upon his neice, but then shifted to a faint image of saddness that Alandria did not understand. She looked away, ashamed to be watching conversations not meant for her so intently, and took another drink of the mead she held, savoring it's taste. She looked again to the Dwarf and Elf still going at their game, and smirked at the sight of the Dwarf with the white foam of the ale caught in his beard, and even on to his nose. Legolas had not the slightest spill or drip on him, and continued to steadily wash down the drinks.

Gimli lifted himself up from his seat for a moment, and although Alandria could not hear it, she knew what he was doing. Éomer heard it apparently, and glanced over at the Dwarf as he filled another mug, appearingly faintly disturbed by the action. Gimli only laughed drunkenly, accepting yet another drink to his ever-growing pile. "Ahr! It's the Dwarves that go swimming, with little hairy women!" His sentence was loud and drunk and followed by laughter of other drunken Men, as Legolas downed another drink with ease. Gimli plunged his hairy face into another foaming mug, as Legolas raised his hand, peering intently at his fingers.

Alandria wondered if the drink was finally playing with his mind, just as his words carried to her, "I feel something.." She glanced at Éomer, and saw with a smile as his eyebrows raised, clearly wondering what the hell the Elf was made of. "A slight tingle in my fingers.." Legolas continued, then looked over at Gimli with concern. "I think it's effecting me."

The Dwarf laughed loudly and crudely again, slamming down another empty mug, his face covered in wet drink and foam. "What did I say? 'e can't hold his..liquor.." Alandria watched in faint, horrified amusement as the Dwarf's eyes crossed, his body went slack, and he toppled over in his chair.

The pile of empty mugs before him was huge, but the Elf nearly matched and still had the ability of clear speech, not to mention consciousness. He raised his eyebrows at the body of his friend, then looked back at Éomer with a faint smile. "Game over."

The Third Marshall shook his head, smiling. "Nearly twenty mugs of ale, and all you've got to tell of it is a 'tingle in your fingers'. I've never understood Elves and after this, I never shall."

Legolas smiled in return. "Someday perhaps you should try _our_ drinks. That would truly be a "drinking game"." He paused then, and looked down again at his fallen friend. "When do you think he'll be conscious?"

Éomer chuckled, a low, warm sound. "None can know for sure. We'll leave him there for now. I don't think any of us want to bother with a drunken Dwarf at the moment."

Legolas tilted his head slightly, studying his friend again with a faint amusement on his fair features, then shrugged. "Hm." Was his only reply, and he wove away into the drunken crowd.

Alandria shook her head slightly, drinking the last drop of her mead, and then raising her eyes to the face of the King's nephew as he approached.

"Evening." He greeted with a warm smile, and tilted his head in question. "You do not drink?"

"I drink." She replied simply, raising her empty mug.

"You do not drink with us?"

Alandria glanced pointedly behind him, to the body of the Dwarf in his drunken stupor. "Nay," She smiled faintly. "I prefer to keep my wits."

The man chuckled again and nodded. "Understood. You were watching then?"

"Most of it, yes. I don't think Gimli will ever live this down."

"Well if he's so pressed, I'm sure he could just claim the Elf has immeasurable immortal powers that give him immunity to drink, and thus was tricked."

Alandria stared at the golden-haired man for a moment, her lips twitching slightly, before her attempt at restraint proved useless. She burst out a strong laugh, one such as she didn't even remember having felt in weeks, and it was echoed by the Horse-lord. She didn't see the turquoise eyes that caught her cheer, and then observed the man that had caused it. Rather, she enjoyed the short laughter, and then chuckled again, shaking her head. "And I have no doubt he might." She smiled at the handsome man for a moment: his clothing loose and comfortable; his dark eyes warm and intelligent; his golden hair nearly glowing in the firelight, free from any ties and falling in loose waves past his shoulders. She shifted then, and stood, wordlessly making her way around him and to the barrels of drink.

"Here, let me." He offered, seeing her hand extend towards a tankard of mead. Alandria reluctantly gave him her mug and he filled it again with the wine, before handing it back with a smile, his rough hand brushing against hers.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Please," He shook his head, waving his hand dismissevly. "None of that 'my lord' rabble. I am so tired of it - can you at least call me by my proper name?"

Alandria's brows furrowed in confusion, and she began to argue. "But, my lord-"

"Éomer."

She ignored him, continuing. "What is proper is for one of lower standing to call those of higher standing their _proper_ titles."

Éomer shrugged casually. "Must we always be proper? Is that, for instance?" He gestured to the unconscious Dwarf.

"Gimli doesn't count. Have you ever held a conversation with him?" She shook her head, smiling slightly.

Éomer chuckled again, then sighed. "Fair enough. But my sister and I - we are your friends, Alandria. More so Éowyn than I, yes, but we are friends none the less. Do you not call Lords Aragorn, Legolas, and even Master Gimli here, by their right names? Do Éowyn and I, whom you've lived with for years, not deserve that kindness as well?"

Alandria wanted to argue for reasons she didn't understand, but found no words to use. She'd never even considered calling Éowyn and Éomer by their actual names, mostly because she'd been taught not to. Although Éowyn was her friend, she was still a Lady, and Éomer a Lord, and Alandria was just a soldier's daughter. A deceased soldier's daughter, now. But she reluctantly nodded. "Yes..sir."

"Éomer."

"...Éomer."

He smiled again, warm and at ease. "See? Not so hard."

She merely smiled slightly in reply, and then was saved from any further conversation as, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Merry and Pippin scrambling onto a table. "I think we're about to receive a song.." She murmured and Éomer heard, following her gaze to the hobbits on the table. They seemed to be talking to someone at the side, who held a fiddle, and after appearing to attempt to conduct the Man for a few moments, they then raised their drinks and began dancing around the table-top, Men all about them, sitting at the table and standing, listening and laughing.

_"Oh you can search far and wide, you can drink the whole town dry! But you'll still find the best brew 'round, is the one we drink in our hometown! You can drink your fancy ales, you can drink 'em by the flagon! But the only brew for the brave and trueee..."_ Here Pippin stopped his dancing and singing, coming to a halt and staring at Gandalf, who Alandria saw standing a ways away.

"Pippin!" Merry yelled, regaining his friend's attention, and they began dancing again.

_"But the only brew for the brave and trueeee, comes from the Green Dragon!"_ With the clang of their mugs together they finished the song, and drank eagerly to the cheers of their viewers.

Alandria couldn't help but smile, and did so generously, applauding the performance. Éomer beside her did the same, shaking his head and smiling. "Your little friends have no shame."

"No," Alandria laughed shortly. "No they don't. I love them for it though." She sighed, not seeing the way his dark eyes studied her face, and took a sip of her mead before nodding towards the Lord. "If you would excuse me my lord." He merely bowed his head to her in reply, sighing softly and not neglecting to notice her calling him by his title.

Alandria slipped away from the tall Rider then, and had a few quick, polite words with Legolas, and then Théoden, before making her way towards her destination outside. She glanced around the bright room for a moment, seeing Éowyn laughing with Merry and Pippin, Legolas and Gandalf smiling and talking, Théoden walking around and speaking warmly with the gathered men, and then Aragorn and Éomer were spotted at a table; leaning towards each other, Aragorn talking and Éomer listening intently, dark hazel eyes wide and eager for whatever he heard. And then she slipped out the door, quickly shutting it behind her.

Night had fallen, and stars twinkled dimly in the dark sky. It was strangley silent outside the doors of the Golden Hall, although the murmur of cheer could still be easily heard through the thick wood. But she found herself more at ease away from the crowd, and more so away from the attentions of the Third Marshall. She held no grudge or anything of the like against him, no, but rather felt she was never sure what to say or how to act around him. And the intensity of his dark eyes was unnerving. It felt as though he was doing everything in his power to figure out something about her, without asking. She sighed softly then, choosing to forget the actions of the night so far, and once again choosing rather to dwell in memories.


	17. Looking After

**I was really looking forward to writing this chapter - it's been brewing in my head for quite a while - and yet I'm not sure if I like how it came out... Let me know what you all think :)**

**And Happy New Year! May it be blessed for all of you!**

**Cheers! xx**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

A measure of time passed, and eventually men and their women began dispersing noisly out the Hall. They tramped down the steps, and returned to their homes slowly. It took a while for all to empty from the Hall, and the night was even darker before the building behind her was still with silence. Not a moment later however, and it was interrupted as the thick doors of Meduseld slowly opened, and from them appeared the Wizard, robed in his proud white.

"I thought I saw you come out here." He commented, and shuffled over to where she stood. He reached behind them and pulled forward a low wooden bench, then settled back on it. He was seated for a moment before looking up at her, seeming faintly annoyed. "Well sit down, Alandria." She did as she was told, not daring to disobey. "You were not long at the celebration."

"I was there."

"Not what I said, my dear. But you did seem to gather the attention of the Lord Éomer."

"Yes, we spoke."

"And did it go well?"

Alandria shrugged, not sure of the meaning of the question. "It did not go ill, if that is what you mean. Éomer is a good man."

"Yes, that he is indeed."

"And what of that song, Gandalf, if you do not mind my asking?" She asked, switching the subject, but the Wizard merely gave her a confused glance. "Pippin." She explained. "He stopped in the middle of it, and looked at you. What was it about?"

The Wizard sighed. "I do not clearly know. Foolishness that will not surface again, I hope." Gandalf then paused and looked at her more closely, deep blue eyes studying her carefully. "Alandria, the celebration was to honor the victory and survival of _your_ people at Helm's Deep. Yet you did nothing other than drink in the corner. What is the matter? Is it your father?"

"No." She answered, both honestly and untruthfully. "No, not..completely. I don't...does it matter, Gandalf?"

"Of course it does dear. You've got everyone worried."

"Worried? They all seemed to be having a pretty pleasant time in there."

"Well you don't see everything now do you?"

"Oh and you do?" She snapped, and receiving silence, looked back up at the Wizard. He was only smiling softly, a mischevious glint in his eyes. Alandria rolled her eyes and muttered, "Well I suppose_ you_ do. But they're fine, Gandalf. I'm fine. Just tired."

"And yet, you do not sleep." Alandria muttered a quiet curse, seeing the hole she'd just dug. _You will eventually have to let him go._

She flinched and turned her head away, her hands insctintively raising to cover her ears. "Don't."

_You cannot keep hiding like this. You cannot keep refusing yourself any happiness._

"I said stop it, Gandalf!"

_Stop what, my dear? I am doing you nothing of any harm. Yet you are choosing to be hurt by it. _

"But you don't know.." Alandria whispered, her hands falling from her ears, knowing it was a futile attempt. Instead she rested her head in them, hiding the distress on her face.

_Know what?_

"What She said, in my head...please, just talk normally!"

_I know more things than you may believe, my dear. And I do know what Galadriel said, and I am sorry, but that does not change anything. You cannot continue your suffering, Alandria, not when it is needless._

"So you would have me forget him instead?! Is that it?"

_I never said such a thing._

"That's because you're not 'saying' anything right now!" She stood and stepped away from the Wizard, hot anger coursing through her veins as she began to pace. "You never trusted Boromir!" She finally yelled, wheeling on the silent Wizard furiously. "That first day in the Council, what he said about the Ring, you disliked him from then and on! You argued with him, and liked him even less! I couldn't believe you actually allowed him as part of the Fellowship! And don't think I didn't hear your whisperings and warnings to Frodo about what a 'threat' Boromir was. And you know what else? I have yet to hear you ask anyone what happened to him, and what happened with Frodo and Sam and the Ring - but that's because you already know, isn't it? You know he died, and don't feel anything do you? Except maybe victory - you were right!" She barked out an exasperated, humorless laugh. "Boromir couldn't be trusted! He was corrupted. He attacked Frodo, and tried to take the Ring. And then in return, he gave his _life_ to protect Merry and Pippin, and failed even in that! Boromir of Gondor was a valiant man - strong, and brave, and I loved him! And you could never even give him your trust, let alone care!" She silenced then, her angry words dropping in the deep quiet, her breathing heavy. She only then realized her throat had become thick with tears, but they only angered her more.

Gandalf sighed, raising himself to his feet, and gazing at her for a long moment, his expression seeming sad. "Alandria, I do not feel victory or joy or anything above sorrow at the knowledge that Boromir is dead, for he was indeed a valiant man. Do not accuse me of not caring, for I did and I do. I wish only that you would understand he can do nothing for you now, and you for him, and that the present is what needs your attention and strength." The Wizard sighed, and headed back towards the doors of the Hall. "I am sorry, my dear." And he slipped through them, and they shut quietly behind him.

Alandria held herself together for only a moment after the Wizard disappeared, and then with a choked sob, fell to her knees on the front steps of Meduseld. Her fury was gone and was now replaced by immeasurable sorrow and guilt, as she felt horrible for having ranted at the Wizard so, accusing him of foolishness that she knew was not true. But she hadn't wanted to hear his words, didn't want to face the truth she knew he spoke. She wasn't ready to let go of her soldier yet. Not when she still felt the hole his death had caused inside her to be so strong, so fresh. She stayed collapsed on her knees then, rocking back on her haunches and burying her face in her hands. Heavy tears fell freely from her eyes, and as much as she tried, sobs still escaped her softly. Never before had she been so thankful for the darkness, and the cover it provided.

After a few minutes the tears slowed, dripping only once in a while now, and her breathing evened out. She stared out in the dark night, seeing things that weren't really there, and her words coming out in a hoarse, uneven whisper, "Through Rohan over fen and field, where the long grass grows..the west wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes...what news from the west, oh wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall, by moon or by starlight?.. Have you seen Boromir the Tall?..." She took a shaky breath, brushing away the last few tears that fell. "I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away... Boromir..."

"Alandria?" She froze at the firm voice behind her, and heard the footsteps of his approach. "Alandria, what happened?"

"Nothing, my lord. I'm fine." She tried to push him away, but he was strong and insistent and lifted her to her feet easily. The door to the Hall had been left open in the Lord's approach, and the glow of fire from it illuminated their forms as he led her to the bench she had previously sat on with Gandalf.

"You have been crying?" He asked softly, his voice low and thick.

"It is passed, my lord."

"Alandria, what happened?" He repeated, but she shook her head in reply, getting a grip on her breathing, the last of her tears fading away. "Alandria.."

"Please, my lord. It was foolish, and has passed. Forget it." He didn't reply, dark eyes merely studying her silently and she shifted, feeling them upon her. "What drew you out here?"

He broke his stare upon her to glance at the still-open door of the Hall, and then seemed to flush slightly in the darkness. "Gandalf bid me to..check on you."

"Check on me?"

Éomer shrugged. "He did not say why, merely that you might need looking after."

"Looking after?!" Alandria curled her lip, turning away from the face of the Horse-lord. "I need no such thing. And I'm sorry you came out here for a useless cause."

He shrugged again, still watching her. "Is not so bad." She didn't reply, watching the dark town before them, and he sighed, his dark gaze falling down to the stones beneath their feet. "I heard, my lady, some of your words as I came out here.." She looked sharply at him, her attention taken. "I did not mean to hear them, but couldn't help.... Did you make it, my lady? The lament?"

She stared at him for a moment, and he raised his eyes again, the dark hazel seeming black in the night, wide and apologetic, appearing oddly young and innocent. The left side of his face was lit by the orange glow of the fires inside the doorway, and his features were strong and handsome. She shook her head then, looking away. "No, it is of Aragorn and Legolas' making. There is much more to it, but I'm not at liberty to tell.."

"I understand." He paused, then continued, ever more softly, "You loved him, Boromir of Gondor?" Alandria glanced at him again, surprise and faint fear in her dark eyes. "Yes, I know. After what Saruman said at Isengard, and the hobbits' conversation last night, your odd actions lately finally became too much of a mystery for me to bear - so I asked the Lord Aragorn if he would tell. I am sorry if that angers you, but-"

"My 'odd actions'?" She asked, and his already-gentle expression softened even more.

"Yes, I've noticed Alandria. You've barely been eating, barely been sleeping...it is clear something is wrong. And so I asked Lord Aragorn, assuming he would be able to explain."

"Oh? And what did he tell you?"

Éomer opened his mouth to speak, but paused as Alandria's eyes were drawn behind him. He turned at the sound of the Doors of Meduseld being shut, and saw the very Man they'd been speaking of walk past them. Aragorn paused, seeing them sitting together, and stared at Alandria a moment before smiling faintly, and nodding to them both, then going to join another figure that stood at the other corner of the building.

Both Éomer and Alandria stared for a long moment at the two figures, before Alandria whispered, "When did the other one get there?"

"I don't know." Éomer quietly replied.

"You mean you didn't hear him either?" She asked, then silently stared for a moment. "It must be Legolas."

"Why must it be him?"

"He's the only one that could have gotten past both of us unheard, of course." She snorted slightly, as if it were an obvious fact.

"Right.." Éomer mused, then turned back to face the woman.

"So what did Aragorn tell you?" She was immediately back to their previous topic.

He sighed softly. "He told me of the forming of the Fellowship in Rivendell, briefly of your journey all the way to Moria, how you lost Gandalf, then of Lothlórien - and that truly is a wonder, you all coming from there alive! - and then of what befell at Amon Hen... I am sorry, Alandria," She shook her head at his sympathy, and he continued. "He then told me of your trek for the hobbits, until you came upon me and my Riders, then how you came here to find Théodred dead." The tall man sighed heavily, his eyes falling. "I had prayed that he would live, even though I knew it was futile. And yet to hear of his death is still hard."

"I know, my lord. Lord Théodred was a good man, and strong."

"None are strong enough, it seems. I will miss my cousin dearly... But that brings me to another matter - Aragorn helped me to further understand some of your anguish: you lost Boromir, and then Théodred, and then your own father." His dark, dark gaze bore warmly into hers. "I am deeply sorry."

Alandria merely shook her head, and faint, rueful smile on her lips. "You'd think I'd be used to people dying by now, eh? No, don't give me any more apologies or sympathies please." She sighed heavily, the smile falling. "I have had enough of them." Éomer still gazed at her though, his deep gaze searching and studying, as always. She finally returned his look, staring back into the ebony eyes. "Why are you still out here, my lord?"

He shrugged slightly again, a faint smile of the edge of his lips. "I've nothing better to do. Are you bothered by my company?"

_I hope you are not weary of my company._ Éomer's voice was different than Boromir's - not quite as deep; thicker; but also smoother, lacking the underlying roughness she had grown so fond of. She smiled wistfully, shaking her head. "Nay, I am not." She whispered in reply, both to the Lord before her and the one in her head. Éomer smiled warmly in reply, and she hesitantly returned it.

Their short silence was interrupted then, as they both turned at the harsh, raised murmur from the Man and Elf also outside. A second later Aragorn whirled around, and bolted towards the wooden doors, disappearing inside in an instant. Legolas was on his heels, silent footsteps swift, and abandoned the Man and Woman watching without a word.

Alandria locked gazes with Éomer for a moment, and then they both jumped to their feet and ran after the retreating Man and Elf. Alandria paused, once in the Hall, trying to figure out where they might have gone. Then she heard scuffling, and thuds, and quick, loud words coming from the room to her right, and hurried towards it. She came into the doorway just in time to see Aragorn collapse, a glowing orb falling from his hands. Legolas stabled his friend, and Alandria watched in a fascinated horror as the fiery ball rolled away as if it had a life of it's own - until Gandalf tossed a cloth over it, extinguishing the fire and halting it's travel.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandal snarled, whirling on the hobbit. But the curly-haired little man did not seem to hear the Wizard's words, and lay on his back, still, eyes open and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Alandria feared he was dead, and her eyes widened in horror. Merry knelt by his cousin, and reached for him, but was shoved aside by Gandalf as he hurried to the hobbit's still form. Gandalf took Pippin's unmoving hand, and laid his own hand on the hobbit's brow, seeming to wait for something.

"Are you alright, Merry?" She dared to whisper, helping the hobbit back to his feet.

"Fine." He breathed in reply, dark blue eyes still locked on his best friend.

She glanced over at Éomer, who she only know remembered stood at her side, and his brow was furrowed, dark eyes worried. Pippin suddenly began to breathe in shaky, frightened gasps, and her attention was quickly fixed on him. Gandalf still held the hobbit's hand, and carefully held the side of his little face as well.

"Look at me." Gandalf's whisper was barely heard.

Pippin did as he was told, shaking and still breathing crazily, until his green eyes fell on the Wizard. "Gandalf?" He whispered, "Forgive me." He dropped the Wizard's intense stare, but the old man was quick to catch it.

"Look at me." Pippin did so reluctantly. "What did you see?"

The little hobbit obviously struggled to control himself, and he disobeyed the Wizard, closing his eyes. "A..a tree." He opened his eyes, glancing at Gandalf with terror written upon every feature. "There was a white tree. In a courtyard of stone... It was dead." He said the words shakily, as if the mere thought of it pained him. "The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith?" Gandalf asked, and Alandria's heartbeat stalled. "Is that what you saw?"

"I saw...I..." The hobbit's faint voice grasped for the words, as he gasped softly, fear painfully clear on his sweet face. "I saw _Him!_ I..I could hear his voice in my head.."

"What did you tell him?" Gandalf asked urgently, shaking the hobbit when he didn't get an answer. "Speak!"

Pippin flinched, and took a breath, reluctantly replying. "He asked me my name - I didn't answer. _He hurt me._" Alandria winced.

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" Gandalf asked, seeking only one answer. Pippin stared at the White Wizard with wide eyes, and all in the room held their breath, losing their hopes, fearing the worst. "Pippin!" Gandalf snapped, and it seemed to wake the hobbit.

"Nothing." He whispered, voice barely above a breath. "I told him nothing."

Gandalf sighed then, and leaned back, releasing the hobbits hand. "Good." He finally murmured, then sighed again and slowly stood. "Good."

Merry rushed from Alandria's side to his friend, and knelt beside him again, checking to make sure he was okay. The others' attention however was fixed on Gandalf, waiting to see and hear what he would plan next. The aged Wizard seemed incredibly weary, and his bright blue eyes were framed by many lines. He met each of their curious gazes, even the Lord Éomer's, and then he glanced once more at the hobbits, who were talking quietly. "We can do nothing at the moment. Dawn is still hours off, and we need not trouble any others with these matters before then. Once the hours of morning have come and the King and his people are awake and about, then we will meet in the Hall and talk. Until then, I need time to think, and plan my next move."

Alandria was not the only one to catch the word _my_, and Aragorn shifted, back on his feet from his spontaneous swoon. "We all must decide our next actions, Gandalf."

"I know Aragorn; do not take my words too literally. Time cannot wait for us any longer, and the pieces must move soon, and they must be quick." Alandria rolled her eyes at the Wizard's cursed riddles, and caught Éomer smiling slighty when he saw her action. "But now it is pointless to do anything. Back to bed, those that will, and we will make our decisons tomorrow morning." He nodded at them all, and then shuffled out the doorway to his own errands.

"He tells us to sleep and yet he does not." Alandria muttered, rubbing a hand into her weary eyes.

"He is more powerful than any of us, Alandria," Aragorn answered softly. "He will be fine without a good night's rest. Not all can say the same."

Alandria took his meaning, but ignored it, moving towards the two - seemingly forgotten - hobbits still on the floor, kneeling beside them. "What about you two, do you think you can get some rest?" Merry merely looked at Pippin for an answer, and the poor little man still looked terrified, his skin pale, a sheen of sweat across his face. "Pippin?" She asked gently, softening her voice as much as she could.

He looked up at her, his pale green eyes still tinted with terror, then looked away. "I..I'll try."

"And I'll stay with 'im." Merry quickly added.

"Wouldn't expect it any other way, Merry." She smiled softly, then turned to the three still standing. Éomer's dark gaze seemed gentle, and there was a faint, kind smile on his lips; Aragorn and Legolas both appeared tired, and faintly concerned. "I'm going to stay with these two." She merely stated, and all three nodded.

"Goodnight then, my lady." Éomer replied politely, bowing lowly to her, and then more formally to the two at his side. "My lords." He glanced at her once more, before dissolving into the darkness of the Hall.

Once the tall Man had left, Aragorn sighed softly. He wanted to argue with Alandria, insist she sleep or something, but he had not the strength left for any sort of fight. His odd encounter with the _palantír_ had drained him of nearly all engery, and he wished only to sleep. "Try to get some rest, Alandria." He merely said quietly, and she nodded distractedly, studying the hobbits rather than him. He sighed again, and then quietly left, Legolas disappearing even more silently.

The dark hours of the night passed with Pippin falling into a fretful sleep, soon followed by Merry - although the little man did his best to fight and stay awake by his cousin's side. But they were both weary from the celebration of the night, and Pippin seemed drained from his exposure to the horrors of the _palantír_, and the Dark Lord. Off and on he would suddenly wake, eyes wide and frightened, but once Alandria assured him he had only been dreaming, he would allow himself to be soothed back to sleep. She stayed awake however, keeping herself occupied with taking care of the sleeping hobbits, or trying to figure out what the morning would bring, or replaying the pointless talk with Éomer out on the entrance. But when her mind strayed to her and the Third Marshall's conversation, it was then led to her outburst at Gandalf, and she was ashamed. Such a reaction had been ridiculous, but it hadn't seemed to surprise the Wizard. Nothing ever did though, or so it appeared. And so she only sighed, forgetting all conversations, and checking to make sure Pippin wasn't having another nightmare.


	18. A Duel, Maybe

**This chapter may seem a little out-of-nowhere, but it was something I wanted to add in for reasons unknown lol. I just got the idea, and kind of liked how it played out. Let me know what you all think.**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

Morning eventually came, and the hobbits woke at the sound of people moving about the Hall. Alandria knew them well and led them to a table, pulling aside a serving girl and asking for some breakfast for the little Halflings. Both were thrilled for a meal, and thanked the lady graciously when they received left-over plates of warmed meats and cheeses, fresh breads, fruits, and cold mugs of ale. Alandria watched over their eating patiently, taking only an apple and cup of watered-down mead for herself. Both Merry and Pippin were nearly done with a second serving of their breakfast when Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Théoden arrived, together and at the same time.

Alandria spotted the men in surprise and, out of long years' habit, quickly stood. Théoden smiled faintly and gestured vaguely at her, dismissing her formality.

"At ease, Alandria. Your father isn't lurking about, making sure you pay your King respects." She flushed slightly, but obeyed and sat back down. "Clear the Hall!" Théoden demanded, his voice raised slightly but not yelling, yet the firm authority it held was heard and obeyed by all. Any that had been mingling pointlessly in the Great Hall now disappeared, leaving only a few soldiers and maids moving about on business.

All eyes turned expectantly to the White Wizard, and he took their stares in even stride, relaying to them all the encounter of Pippin and the Seeing Stone. "There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool, but an honest fool, he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring. We've been stranglely fortunate. Pippin saw in the _palantír_ a glimpse of the Enemy's plan." Here he met the gazes of both Aragorn and Théoden firmly. "Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith." Alandria felt oddly worried, remembering the pride and love Boromir spoke of his city with. "His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our Enemy one thing - he knows the Heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still - strength, perhaps enough to challenge him. Sauron fears this." He turned from Aragorn to Théoden now. "He will not risk the peoples of Middle-earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of men! If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."

"Tell me," Théoden started softly, and Alandria observed his distanced expression carefully. "why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?" All stared at the King for a silent moment, surprised by his reply and unsure whether or not to challenge him.

"We cannot simply leave them for their own defenses!" Alandria exclaimed, frustrated and unnerved by her King's words. "And this isn't just for Gondor, my lord, it's for all of Middle-earth! We cannot remain here."

"I will go." Aragorn replied softly, before Théoden could make any remark to Alandria.

"No." Gandalf argued, still gazing at Théoden.

"They must be warned!" Aragorn debated.

"They will be." The Wizard assured the Ranger, taking a few slow steps closer to him, before he leaned in a spoke softly with the Man. Alandria could not hear and did not try, she rather studied the expressions on Aragorn's face; they were limited merely to thoughfulness and obedience. "Understand this - things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith." He turned then, facing Alandria and the two hobbits at her side - one hobbit in particular. "And I won't be going alone."

"M-Me?" Pippin squeaked.

"Yes, Peregrin Took. You got yourself into this, now for the consequence." Gandalf turned back to face the rest of his audience. "Any further actions are up to you Théoden. I urge you - prepare to ride to aid for Gondor! Now is not the time for grudges. And to the rest of you - fare thee well!" He whirled away then, and swept past Alandria and Merry, taking with him the hobbit at their side. Only a few stutters of complaint could be heard from Pippin as he was taken by the Wizard.

"Go, Meriadoc." Alandria urged. "Say goodbye." The little hobbit hesitated, looking afraid, then with a nod quickly scurried after his friend.

She stayed seated for a moment, then suddenly stood in unease. "I should go with, to retrieve Merry when..when Pippin leaves."

"I'll do it, my lady." Aragorn stepped forward. "You've taken enough care of them throughout the night." The Man slipped past her quietly, and strode purposefully out of the Hall to fetch the blonde hobbit.

Alandria stayed standing hesitantly, debating whether or not to still run after the hobbit. She then glanced around the room, and saw all eyes watching her carefully. Each of them seemed to be waiting for her next move, and almost appeared as if they were afraid of it. Unnerved, she turned her attentions to her King again. Her brow furrowed as the quick exchange between him and Gandalf came back to her. "If the beacons are lit, will you really leave Gondor without an ally?"

Théoden seemed caught off-guard with her question and his stern features blanked in surprise for a moment, before considering her words. "I cannot say. Now, after all the lives we have just lost, I feel enough anger to deny them aid. Yet who knows what the morrow may bring?"

His answer did not satisfy her, and her eyes hardened. "Have you no thought for what may result if you do _not_ aid them? Or do you only think with rash anger?"

"Alandria I will ask you to hold your tounge," Théoden's hard voice snapped suddenly, his dark eyes harder than hers. "and think of what you say before it passes your lips. Do not speak to me of 'rash anger' my dear, you of all people. My decisions are for me to make, and you to obey. I am the King - I will ask you to remember that." He glared once more in her direction, before turning quickly on his heel and striding back towards his chambers.

Alandria stared after him, seething in silence, both furious and ashamed as she knew he spoke true. Footsteps summoned her attention then, and she turned back to the great, open doors of Meduseld. Aragorn entered, with little Merry beneath his hand, head down and feet shuffling slowly. Alandria softened upon seeing the morose hobbit. She stepped forward, and silently took her friend from Aragorn's care, into hers. Merry did not seem to care, in fact he barely noticed. He took Alandria's hand in his, and followed her out onto the steps of the Golden Hall silently. They sat down for a moment, both staring out in the beautiful golden grasslands of Rohan.

"He's gone, milady." Merry was the first to break their somber silence.

"I know, Merry."

"I don't know if I'll ever see 'im again."

"I know."

"Do you know what's gonna happen next?"

"No." She sighed. "I don't. Gandalf and Pippin will presumably find a way to light the beacons of Minas Tirith, and then...then we wait for the King's decision. War or no."

"How long does it take for the beacons to reach us?"

"I'm not sure; they've never been lit in my lifetime here. Perhaps an hour, I believe?"

"And three days for them to even get to Gondor...that's a long wait."

"Aye. It is."

"What do we do while we wait, m'lady?"

She smiled slightly. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Merry chewed his lip, glancing about the town below them. "I don't like this, Alandria. All this war and waitin' and such. I miss the Shire."

Alandria felt her heart soften, even ache. She grasped the hobbit's shoulder warmly. "I know, Merry. But we can't change things now. We can only do our best."

The hobbit sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest and then resting his chin on them. "I think I'm just gonna stay 'ere for a while, milady. Think and such, y'know. You're welcome to do as you'd like." Alandria hesitated, glancing down at the little man. He returned her look, reflecting it upwards with a soft smile. "I'll be fine, no worries."

Alandria hated to admit it, but she did want to move somewhere else. In all truth, she had the itch to move a lot. And she knew how to get rid of it, knew just what she truly was longing to do. So, having the hobbit's leave, she stood. "Keep your heart up, Merry. You'll see Pip again." Her words seemed lost on the _hobtyla_, as he merely nodded, dark blue eyes never leaving the landscape laid out before him. She sighed softly, then turned and quietly strode down the stone steps leading away from Meduseld.

* * *

As of that morning, and for the next two mornings, Alandria escaped from the quiet, waiting town just as the sun rose, and wasn't to be found until it had nearly reached it's highest point in the sky. Of course, the four other members of the Fellowship panicked with fear the first morning she disappeared, after leaving little Merry on the steps. But she assured them she hadn't been in any danger, only keeping her mind busy with helping some of the women of the town. Her friends accepted the lie so easily she felt almost guilty. The second morning she got up to disappear, she neglected to hear the hoofbeats faintly echoing her own. As did she on the third morning. Instead, she galloped an eager Dustling out of Edoras in the earliest shine of morning, flying out across the plains of Rohan for nearly half of an hour, before coming to halt at a small patch of dark trees that looked out of place in the golden landscape.

She would dismount, tethering Dustling or leaving him to roam freely for a while, trusting him well, and then walk a few short steps into the mini-forest, until she came upon a fair-sized clearing, round, and perhaps twenty five feet across. She would unsheath the light sword from her hip, and work at fending off imaginary foes, twisting and turning and slicing and thrusting until sweat poured, and still more, fighting to rid herself of the pent-up energy and emotions inside. It was an odd habit she had acquired a couple years ago, when the Orc attacks became more common and others had not the time to bother with teaching her or helping her with a sword. It was a tiring, near-pointless exercise, but always left her feeling greatly relieved. With nothing to do with her days other than anxiously wait around Meduseld for some sign from Gandalf and Pippin, she was quick to realize the exercise would be helpful. But she never thought of anyone following her.

"So this is where you've been running off to?" Alandria whirled at the voice from the trees, her blade immediately at the ready. The voice chuckled deeply. "Calm down, my lady.."

"Show yourself!" She snapped in reply, her green eyes darting through the forest surrounding her. There was a rustle of branches to her left and she turned sharply, blade pointing into the shadows. The deep chuckle came again, and then the leafed branches moved for a moment, before parting and letting a tall, broad-shouldered, golden-haired Man step through. Alandria relaxed, her sword drooping slightly. "How did you find me?"

Éomer's handsome face held a slight smile, and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Just decided to see where you were really off to."

"I told the others I was helping the women."

"And yet, I seemed to the be only one paying enough attention to not believe you." He smirked good-naturedly, but Alandria was watching him warily. "Don't worry," he assured her, "I didn't - and won't - tell."

She stared at him for another moment, before deciding he meant no harm, and dropped her weapon to her side with a sigh. "Shouldn't you be..planning something? With your uncle?"

"Why should I? He hasn't made any decision yet."

"He's still debating whether or not to aid Gondor?" Éomer didn't answer, but she found one in his silence and growled in aggravation. "He can't honestly even be _considering_ leaving them to fend for themselves!"

"It is not my place to question my uncle's decisions." She glanced at him sharply, and saw his troubled face decieved his words. He spoke before she could though, changing the subject. "You really should be more careful when you decide to go riding off this like, you know." Alandria strode into the forest again, heading back to Dustling and ignoring the Lord. "I followed you yesterday and today, and you never knew - and it's not like I can hide very well, riding behind you at a gallop across miles of empty land. You're lucky it was only me."

"I'm sure I would have been fine." She answered dismissively, whistling for her horse. The gelding raised his head from his hiding place behind some low trees, and then plodded slowly and obediently to her.

"You're leaving already?" Éomer asked, seeming surprised.

"Yes. You found me - shouldn't you be telling me to 'go back to Edoras, it's not safe here'?"

He shrugged slightly, and shook dark gold locks of hair out of his face. "I hadn't planned on it."

Alandria eyed him curiously. "Then what?"

He shrugged again, and rested his hand on the sword-hilt at his hip. "Honestly, I'd been wondering if you would mind a partner. A duel, maybe, or even just some...whatever you were doing. Practicing?" His dark eyes danced almost eagerly.

Alandria hesitated, debating whether she really wanted to duel the young lord or not. But then again, why not? Although she did feel awkward around him, after the night out on the steps of Meduseld, and certainly more so alone with him. But the lord himself seemed unswayed, and her body was itching for a proper sword-fight - he had cut her exercising short.

"...alright then." She finally agreed, and patted Dustling's neck, then pushed him back towards where he'd been grazing, and quickly stalked back to the clearing. Éomer followed quietly, and when they came to the small clearing, stood several paces away from her.

Alandria didn't take time to start dueling with the Rider, played no games, performed no time-wasting warm-ups. She stood across from him for a moment, narrowed emerald eyes holding his taunting hazel ones. He waited for her to make the first move - and she did, not waiting for the anticipation in the air to thicken. She leapt forward quickly, smoothly bringing her sword up from her lower left, swinging towards his head. Éomer waited a heartbeat, and in a flash had his own blade raised, blocking her blow with a sharp clang. Smoothly accepting his block, she forced her sword to slide along his, then turned her hands to strike quickly from the right. He blocked again. Alandria pulled away, glancing into his dark eyes, seeing how calmly he was accepting her advances, and was spurred on by aggravation. Her first blow came from above - blocked; second from the direct left - blocked; third from underneath - blocked. She finally growled in annoyance and stepped back, panting slightly.

"Fight back, damn you! You wanted a duel, now come on!"

Éomer merely smiled slightly, and inclined his head curtly. His gaze fell to her sword, and she could see the focus suddenly shine in his dark eyes. He said nothing, so his sudden attack caught her off-guard. He took only a long step forward, and swung smoothly from the right, slicing down. Alandria only just lowered her blade in time. She felt the surprising force of his blow shake her arm, and glanced up at him in alarm. But his face revealed nothing, for his sight was focused where their swords joined. She followed his example, and became less concerned about him and more concerned with where her blows were going and his were coming from, as the Lord turned out be a rather adept swordsman. It made sense, of course, for him to have such extreme skill with a blade, but somehow it still surprised her. Perhaps she had expected him to go easy on her, a woman. This certainly was not the case, as the golden-haired man seemed to easily block her swings, and strike back with surprising force. He was light on his feet, scuffling and shifting and jumping to and away. Alandria was angry to find him winning all of their short matches - his blade would come to stop just at her throat, or stomach, or chest, and he'd pause, then lower his weapon with a small smile. The anger did not subside when he stepped back for a breath, a prominent grin stretched across his rugged face.

"Are you still so sure you would've been fine if it hadn't been I who followed you, riding from Edoras?" He chuckled, wiping the faint sheen of sweat from his brow. Alandria launched herself forward with a curl of her lip, but he blocked her again with a smile. "Come now, not this again?" She swung towards his shoulder, and he pivoted on one foot, dodging the blow. "All this talk of your great journey with the Fellowship, and The Ring. With sword-work like this, it's no wonder the Fellowship didn't last!"

The anger was gone. Aggravation dissolved. A hot, fiery fury burst instead, devouring Alandria's senses. Her vision seemed red with the hate and outrage she felt - how dare he insult her so? Insult them all so? This damned spoiled idiot! She launched herself at Éomer with a feral snarl, the silver of her blade flashing in the sun. She didn't register his expression at her attack, focused only on paying him back for his cruel remark. He blocked her once, twice, but she was rushing him harder than before. Her smaller body was nearly pressed into his, and although he was stronger and could not be forced back, the sharp metal she held helped to her advantage. She swung wildly at his left side, and he danced lightly backwards to avoid it, but didn't anticipate her quick swerving of the blade, bringing it around from it's sideways curve to slice down. A hole tore down the front of his shirt, and cut open his thigh, but the man barely had time to register this before Alandria spun, getting momentum, and launched a furious fist into his mouth once, twice. The impact knocked him a shocked step backward, but still she came. He was barely able to block her easy blow from above, and in doing so revealed his stomach free to a swift up-thrust knee. A cough, and he doubled over. Alandria merely pushed him over to the ground at that point, a snarl etched into her features.

The handsome man lay on his back, breathing heavily and staring up at her with intense eyes. Dark blood trickled from his mouth, and could be seen gleaming in droplets down his thigh. His dark eyes were rather steady, on-guard and patient. But Alandria thought she saw, as the fury faded with her opponent submissive to her will, the faintest flicker of fear in the dark depths, quickly obscured by defiance. It struck her though, the brief fear. Fear of her? Only then did she register that the sharp point of her sword lay snugged threateningly into the man's throat, only just keeping from breaking the skin. Shock shook her, and she jerked her blade away, stepping back.

"I'm sorry, my lord.. I didn't mean... I was just so..angry..." Her words seemed weak, and a defiant part of her protested her apologies. Had she already forgotten his insults? His mockery? No, but he was of much higher authority than her. It was just a duel. She should've controlled herself. But the Lord was shaking his head as he rose, dusting off the back of his pants and spitting a dribble of blood.

"No, no I asked for it. I knew what I said would make you angry." He winced for a moment, a hand on his side. "In truth, it's what I wanted."

She panted for several seconds, processing what he said, and then speaking the only words she could find, "What?"

"You were holding back." He wiped away more blood with the back of his hand, glancing at it carelessly. "I could tell." He shrugged, picking up his sword from when it'd fallen. "So I did what I knew would force you into using all your power."

Alandria stared for a long moment, not sure she was understanding. He'd wanted her to attack him? "But...why, m'lord?"

Éomer sighed, staring at her for a moment tiredly, then shook his head. "Why is it now you call me 'lord'? Before you were cursing at me." He seemed amused by the thought. Alandria blushed, and he continued. "Wasn't it clear, Alandria? If you could barely cause me trouble when I was hardly trying, how can you expect to survive if it all comes to a battle against Mordor's forces? I was simply trying to help you see what you needed to feel and do, should such a situation come."

Anger sparked again, and her eyes narrowed. "You think I wouldn't be able to handle myself in a battle?"

"I didn't say-"

"Did Helm's Deep not prove to you I know what I'm doing?"

"I didn't-"

"Or are you just basing this off the fact that I'm a woman?" She was practically snarling now, unexplainable fury rising inside her again.

"Alandria, I meant no-"

"Be quiet, my lord, please!" She snapped. She felt like an idiot for being shown weak in battle with him, and even further more for spilling her thoughts to him those nights ago on the porch of the Golden Hall. Why she did any of it, she could not be sure, but now anger was claiming her embarrasment. "Now, unless you'd like me to push my sword further than the skin of your throat, I advise we return to Edoras. Someone may have noticed our absence." She knew this was doubtful, but wanted to be rid of the man's unnerving presence. So she turned sharply and hurried to her horse, without a thought of him, as he stood watching her leave, trying to determine what he had done wrong.

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NOTE: If anyone finds it a little strange that Alandria's anger gets flared so easily - and it will happen more - I assure you, there's a reason :)


	19. Oaths You Have Taken

**Hey everyone, sorry for such a delay only to give you such a - may I say 'dull'? - update, but you know how life can be sometimes :S But trust me, the next chapter will have much more to it! As it is, I hope this is good enough for now...**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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Alandria made her way moodily back to Edoras, and into the Golden Hall. Théoden, Éowyn, Merry, Legolas, Gimli, and a couple of Théoden's guard stood or sat idly around, talking quietly. Théoden and his men only glanced at her as she came in, and she turned to disappear down a hallway before anyone else saw her. She took several long minutes in her chamber to clean off what sweat was on her face and arms, then changed begrudgingly into a plain cream-colored shift and dark brown, simple dress. She left her hair down and loose, then returned to the Hall. Théoden and his men did not notice her return, Legolas and Gimli only nodded to her silently, but Éowyn watched her with concern as she fell heavily onto a stool before a table, beside Merry.

"Alandria?" The White Lady asked curiously, and her friend only glanced at her in reply. "Is something the matter?"

"No." The dark-haired woman answered shortly, watching a group of advisers whispering across the Hall from Théoden and his men.

"You seem agitated." Alandria ignored her. "Where have you been?"

"Helping some of the women." She muttered carelessly.

Éowyn obviously didn't believe her, and opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted as the doors opened again. Éomer strode in, back straight and head high, now in his intricate armor rather then riding clothes, and appearing much more collected than he had been when Alandria left him in the clearing. Éowyn glanced from her brother, to Alandria, and back, her brow crumpled. "Éomer-"

"I took Firefoot out for a quick ride around the walls, Éowyn." He answered her question before she spoke it. "You know he gets restless." Alandria wondered why he was still hiding her disappearances from the others, especially after she had insulted him so. But the man would not meet her eye, straightening his clothes and then looking over at his uncle and advisers. "Have they made any decision?" He murmured quietly.

"No." Éowyn sighed. "They are still pouring over maps, debating which routes to take for if they go to battle, _and_ if they flee." She sighed again and paced slowly, her arms crossed. "It's been the same thing for three days."

Alandria turned her attention then from the two gold-haired people, to the little man she only just remembered was at her side. "G'morning Merry. How've you been?" She tried to ask in a relatively cheerful voice, but wasn't sure the hobbit was convinced.

He shrugged, chewing on a heel of bread. "Same as always, Alandria. Waiting to see what's going to happen. Like all of you."

"Where is Aragorn?" She asked, realizing the Ranger was missing from their company in the Golden Hall.

"Outside, somewhere. Not real sure."

As if he had been summoned, the heavy wooden doors of Meduseld burst open to allow the dark-haired man they spoke of to rush through. "The beacons of Minas Tirith!" He cried, and Alandria's chest clenched. "The beacons are lit!" He dashed across the space of the Hall, stumbling to a surprisingly undignified halt several paces from the alarmed Théoden, and gasped for breath. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Immediately, the room fell silent and still, and the air seemed to weigh like boulders upon them all as they waited for the King's reaction. All eyes turned to him in expectation, half-fearing what he would say. The weathered face of Théoden seemed taken aback, rapidly weighing his duties and thoughts, finally coming to a hasty decision, his voice firm: "And Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim!"

Relief and pleasure flooded through Alandria and she turned to Éowyn, her face lit with her delight at the King's answer. But she saw the tall man standing beside her pale friend, and was sobered. Éomer bowed firmly to his king at the order to muster, and glanced at Éowyn, turning away and touching her arm gently. He then glanced at Alandria, and his dark eyes were emotionless, hard and already prepared for his upcoming journey. He said and did nothing, only lowered his face and strode away.

Alandria leapt to her feet anyway, excited despite the dangerous mission. "Finally!" She cried to Éowyn, whom stood still. "Come on, my lady, we must get ready!" The bell summoning all Riders had already begun to echo about the city, into the depths of the Hall.

Éowyn stared at her friend in disbelief. "Why now are you so joyous, Alandria?"

"Because now we go to battle, of course! We are doing right, in aiding Gondor. Don't you think so?"

"Of course I do. But it is the men who battle, Alandria, not us." Alandria's pleased expression vanished. "Surely you did not think they would let us fight?"

Alandria suddenly felt a fool, and stuttered weakly, "I thought...after Helm's Deep...they can't... But this is not an average battle, my lady!" She finally protested.

Éowyn shook her head. "Do you think it matters?"

"They can't just leave us behind!"

"Of course they can." Éowyn answered calmly. "And they will. We travel with them to Dunharrow, and then they go their own way."

Alandria spluttered unintelligably in anger, but found no more counterargument. Éomer had just given her that humiliating and enraging sword practice in order to prepare her for the battle - he said so himself! He at least would not expect her to stay behind. He would know she needed to fight. But, as she strode with Éowyn and Merry out to the steps of Meduseld, she could not locate the tall Rider in the midst of all the other warriors.

"Come, Alandria. We need to be ready when the men are, so quickly. Pack a few things - clothes, blankets, food, is all - and set them on your horse. Then meet me over there," she pointed to a small house just below the Golden Hall, "and we will ride out together. Understood?"

Alandria nodded obediently, still sore from the idea of being left behind. Éowyn had already bustled off though, and Alandria figured she might as well do the same, forgetting in her brooding about the confused little hobbit left standing behind her.

Alandria did as she was told quickly, even though Dustling was fidgety with all that was happening around him. She led him to beside the house her lady had pointed out, and came across Éowyn and Aragorn talking.

"...it's tradition for women of the court to farewell the men."

Aragorn seemed to be looking at the Lady's saddle. He reached out, and lifted something, a reproving look in his eyes. Éowyn jerked back down whatever he had lifted, hiding what caused the amused look in his eye. "The men have their captain." She said softly, watching him. "They will follow you into battle, even to death. You have given us hope." Alandria focused intently on Dustling's perfectly-tight girth as Éowyn turned back away from the Ranger, and chewed her lip in curiosity at what the man had seen hidden beneath Éowyn's saddle.

"Are you ready then, Alandria?" The Lady asked over her saddle.

Alandria glanced up, then past the lady at Aragorn, and back. She nodded. "Think so, m'lady."

"Mount up, then." Éowyn pulled herself smoothly into her saddle, her left foot in the stirrup and the right perched slightly above it, resting nearer to the pommel. Alandria didn't mount, merely stared at Dustling nervously. "Alandria? What's wrong?"

Alandria shifted. "Uhm, I'm wearing a dress my lady." Éowyn stared blankly. "I'm...I usually wear trousers."

"Oh!" Éowyn chuckled. "You don't know how to ride in a dress?"

"Ride, yes, although it has been years. I just..."

"Don't know how to mount?"

"Aye." She answered weakly, but Éowyn smiled good-naturedly.

"Here, Alandria, I'll help you." Aragorn was at her side, appearing to have overheard her problem. Alandria flushed deeply, but he paid no attention. He guided her left foot into the stirrup, and then helped lift her up to the saddle, where she sat uncomfortably sideways.

"Thank you." She muttered, and he only smiled softly before turning away to mount himself.

"Now is the hour, Riders of Rohan!" Éomer's deep, thick voice sounded across the lines of Riders. "Oaths you have taken, now, fulfill them all! To Lord, and land! Hah!" He urged his tall steed on, and led with Théoden the first Riders out of the great city of Edoras.

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Her left leg was numb once they arrived, and her right throbbed stiffly. Théoden led them quickly through the hundreds of horsemen already gathered, asking for news of who had arrived and with how many warriors.

"Grimbold, how many?"

"I bring five hundred men from the Westfold, my lord!"

"We have three hundred more from Fenmarch, Théoden King!"

"Where are the Riders from Snowbourn?"

"None have come my lord."

Alandria glanced around nervously, and Dustling slowed from his sharp trot. She was no scholar when it came to numbers, but she knew enough to tell that not nearly enough Riders had yet arrived. Perhaps more will come, she told herself uneasily, but found it hard to believe. Instead she observed the other people already gathered in tents around her, their horses tethered or in large corrals, as they waited for the King to lead them on. But Théoden was riding towards the great stone wall that rose over a hundred feet above the encampment of Dunharrow, intent on reaching his personal camp at it's top. Alandria winced as Dustling lapsed back into his quick trot to keep up with Éowyn and Aragorn, who were in front of her, and they began their ascend to the top of the stone perch.

The sloping path that led up the rock wall cut back and forth across it's width, and at each end, where they turned and walked up the other direction, sat an ominous stone figure, watching their procession. The figures were so worn they could hardly be discerned as anything at all, other than a stooped grey figure with black holes where the eyes and mouth should have been. Pukel-men. Alandria felt watched by them, and shivered slightly every time they were passed.

Soon they reached the top of the climb, however, and were allowed to spread out, dismount, and make camp, much to Alandria's relief. She followed Éowyn slowly away from the line of men, towards a post where a couple other horses were tethered. She dismounted with a wince and a sigh, her legs stiff and sore. Once she landed on her feet, her right leg groaned in sensitive protest, and her left began to tingle unnaturally. She grumbled sourly, vowing never to ride side-saddle again, no matter what, and began to un-tack her horse. She removed the saddle and saddle blanket, lifting them both in her arms, and stepped away to rest them on the post. She had barely taken a step though, when her left leg seemed to vanish from underneath her, throwing her body awkwardly sideways. The weight of the tack in her arms pulled her further down, and her stiff right leg refused to help. A hand caught her underneath the arm then, and lifted her roughly up. Another hand helped balance the saddle and blanket in her arms, then, once satisfied she was standing decently on her own two feet, took the tack from her. Alandria glanced uncomfortably into the man's dark hazel eyes, and flushed in embarrassment.

"Thanks." She muttered, and then glanced up at the chuckling of other men. She saw a small group of passing Riders nudge each other and glance at her, snickering quietly at what they had just witnessed, but not quietly enough.

"Silence!" Éomer barked, eyes darkening upon the passing men. "Or d'you want me to knock you fools on your arses for laughs as well?"

The men jumped in alarm, and quickly stalked off, muttering as they did. Alandria flushed deeper.

"Are you alright?" The Lord then asked, turning on her kindly, dark eyes lightening.

"Fine. Just, uhm," Alandria shifted nervously, "not used to side-saddle."

The tall man smiled faintly, obviously understanding. "Your leg gave out, huh? That happens. I've seen Éowyn go down plenty of times."

Alandria smiled back nervously, imagining such a thing. "I feel like a fool, though."

"Nah." He picked up her horse's tack again with ease. "It happens to every woman. I must say, I'm rather thankful _we_ don't have to ride like that." He chuckled faintly. "Where do you want this?"

Alandria glanced at the bulky saddle in his arms. "Oh no, no, I'll get it. It's alright."

"Really, let me help." He insisted, moving his arms out of her reach. "Where are you camping?"

"I'm, uhm..." She glanced around then, "not actually sure. Presumably with Éowyn, but I don't know where she is."

Éomer nodded firmly, and then adjusted the saddle and blanket so he was holding them with one arm, and raised the free hand to his lips. A sharp, splitting whistle cracked the air. "_Éowyn_!" He bellowed, and the gold-haired lady burst out of a white tent four tents down from them. Her eyes were wide in alarm as she rushed out, and then narrowed as she spotted her older brother. He just grinned in reply, and Alandria found the cheerful smile forced her own upon her face. Éowyn however did not seem amused, and merely shot another glare at her brother, before striding off across the camp, apparently intent on some other mission.

"Do you do that to her often?" Alandria asked, still smiling faintly as they headed towards the tent she had just come from.

"I used to, when we were younger. The whistle usually just scared her, and whenever I yelled for her like that she'd be sure something was wrong." He chuckled again, obviously having enjoyed himself. "She was a very paranoid child."

"I can't imagine why, having someone like you around."

Alandria had meant it as a joke, but realized it came out wrong just as his warm, brown-green eyes lowered to meet her gaze. He sobered, gazing at her for a moment.

"Uh, I didn't mean it like- Not that you- That..." She stuttered, searching for an excuse, as Éomer set down her saddle and saddle blanket just inside the tent, then straightened and gazed at her again. "..came out wrong."

He sighed, glancing towards her tent and then back at her nervously. "I mean to apologize, my lady, for what offense I caused before." He paused, then added, "At the..duel, in the clearing."

She had begun, at this point, to associate his more formal speech with guilt on the man's part, and flushed slightly at it. "It is quite alright. I'm sorry I lost my temper. I just didn't expect to lose to you." She smiled slightly, and he chuckled warmly.

"I am the Third Marshall, Alandria. You must give me some credit."

"That is true." She replied, and then her smile slowly faded. "I'm not go into battle again. Did you know this?"

He appeared confused for a moment, and then quickly turned guilty. "I...I would have assumed it, yes."

The spontaneous anger he had been expecting flared inside her. "You _assumed_ it? What about all your talk of my 'holding back' and needing to know how to fight if we should come to battle with Mordor? Was that not the point of your ridiculous duel?"

"Alandria, I thought perhaps my uncle would allow you in the battle. And so, I thought it would be...decent, to help prepare you for it."

"Well you have prepared me for _nothing!_" She snapped, her temper quickly taking over the gentle words that had just exchanged, boiling the blood in her veins. "You only managed to cruelly raise false hopes, _lord._" She scoffed the title, eyes as hard as emeralds, and then spun on her heel and stalked away. She had barely taken five steps when she realized a handful of Riders had paused in their duties, overhearing her anger at the Lord, and now muttered as she walked past:

"She's angry enough to challenge even Lord Éomer's wrath..

"What was that about? It's like an avalanche coming out of nowhere.."

"With their tempers around, it'll be surprising if anyone survives to even _make_ it to Gondor.."

"Haven't you dogs anything better to do?!" She snarled at the last commentator, and they flinched before muttering again and quickly dispersing.

The fury that had shocked her system faded slowly, her blood lowering to a simmer and the muscles in her jaw eventually going slack as she walked around the camp. She paid little attention to anything she passed, seeing white tent after white tent being raised, horse after horse untacked and tethered, and Rider after Rider walk by. Then she came to the edge of the cliff, and glanced down nervously. The height made her stomach clench, and she took a couple steps back uncomfortably. Her eyes roved on the ground below her then, careful still, and she took in all the tents and horses and people below. Several thousand, it appeared, but certainly not enough. Her attention was claimed then by a horse shrieking, and she turned sharply, praying it wasn't Dustling. Then she saw it was merely a couple horses shying away from a dark crevice broken into the rock they stood near, and their Riders fighting to move them past. Legolas shifted into view, and Alandria stepped forward to talk to him for the first time since they left Edoras, but Éomer had appeared already. He carried his own tack now, and appeared to be speaking to the Elf, and Dwarf, as Gimli had just arrived. Alandria could only catch fragments of what they were discussing, but knew it was focused on the break in rock that the horses feared so much.

"..that mountain is evil." Éomer stated in a grave voice, glancing at the Elf, Dwarf, and now-present Ranger, before lowering his head and walking away.

Legolas seemed to lose interest in the path quickly, and Gimli followed suit. But Aragorn remained frozen where he stood, staring fixedly into the dark crevice. He looked frightened, and pained, and Alandria rushed forward.

"Aragorn?" She called, but he didn't seem to hear her. A gust of wind blew then, spooking the already nervous horses, and the dark-haired man winced as he stared down the path in horror. "Aragorn!" She grabbed his arm and he jumped, jerking away before seeing her. "Are you alright?" He snuck a careful look back over to the break in the stone that had transfixed him so. His soft turqoise eyes were wide and unnerved, but he was able to look away this time, and nodded feebly, then stumbled away without a word.

Alandria stood, frozen, and watched the man retreat in confusion. She wanted to ask him about their plan for battle, and if he might let her come along, as part of his company. But the man clearly did not wish to be spoken to, and so she left him alone, choosing instead to search out Éowyn and see what could be done to prepare for the ride to war.


	20. Only Overprotective

**Okay, I think this chapter is a bit more interesting than the last one :) After this will be the Battle of Pelennor Fields, so things are finally gonna get really moving! Spring Break is coming up soon for me, so I'll probably post it when I have a chance around then. Hopefully. I hope you all enjoy this, and if you do - please, let me know with a review! **

**Take care, cheers!**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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The clamour of battle roared around her: foul creatures snarling, Men screaming, horses neighing, and swords clashing. She wanted to be part of it, knew she was supposed to be part of it, but something drew her away. Something was pulling her towards the great stone fortress that was Helm's Deep, and into it's dark depths, away from the raging battle outside it. Hesitantly, she followed, rersisting the urge to fight. She lay a foot inside the fortress's walls, and then she knew what called her from battle. "Alandria!" The deep bellow echoed about the stone walls, and she could not discern where it came from. Her feet took her left, through a stone doorway, deeper into the building. The deep, velvet voice shouted her name again, and it echoed around her. She glanced around in desperation, searching for the autumn-haired soldier to whom the voice belonged, knowing he needed her. It would be too late soon. But she couldn't find him, no matter how hard she searched, and now the Deep had become a maze, and all the passages were the same; she was only going around and around in circles, she couldn't find him, it was too late-

The night felt exceptionally cold as Alandria snapped awake. She had to glance around at her surroundings to fully understand she wasn't still in Helm's Deep, trapped and searching for Boromir. The white canvas stretched above her, and the soft stamping of horses outside assured her she was awake. Still, she trembled, unsteadily climbing to her feet. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, and the nightmare had been punishment for it. Hastily, she picked up her sword from where it lay beside the low cot and strapped it in it's sheath to her hip. She ran a hand through her tousled hair and tried to calm herself with a deep breath. It did little to help. She needed company to keep her mind off the nightmare.

The camp was dark as Alandria left the tent, save for a few scattered torches lighting a walker's way through the night. She made her way slowly around lying tack and packs, toward where she saw the bright glow of a lone fire several tents down. Two men sat around it, and as she came nearer she recognized them as Gamling and Éomer. Éowyn appeared then from the tent behind the men, following Merry, who dashed ahead, in child-sized armor and brandishing a short sword. Alandria paused, smiling faintly, as Éowyn nudged the little hobbit onward.

He had almost passed her before he saw her standing there, and pulled up short. "Hello, Alandria!"

"Hello Merry. What're you doin' about so late?"

"The Lady and I were preparing for tomorrow." He answered cheerfully. "She found me some armor! Now I'm off to the smithy, to have my blade sharpened." He observed the steel in his hand scornfully.

Alandria still smiled, but it faded a little as she looked up to see Éomer rising from his seat to turn and face his sister. His expression had been dark. Alandria's gaze fell back down to the blonde hobbit, who was watched her curiously. "Well you'd best get on then." She smiled again. "It's getting late and you'll need your strength for tomorrow."

"Aye, milady. You will too you know!"

She chuckled. "I just had my rest, thank you. Now go on, Meriadoc. No wasting time."

He flushed and grinned under her teasing tone, and dipped his head. "Aye, milady. G'night."

"Goodnight, Merry." The hobbit scurried off happily, and she turned her attention again to the people by the fire, who stood only a short distance away. She could only see Éowyn's face, and it was unnervingly hard and cold. Éomer held her shoulder, and Alandria unconsciously stepped closer in her curiosity, not seeing the warning look Gamling tossed her way.

Éomer's deep, thick voice just barely carried over the quiet crackling of the flames as he murmured softly to his sister, "...the fear takes him, and the blood, and the screams...horror of battle take hold - do you think...stand and fight? He would flee...would be right to do so. War is the province of men, Éowyn." His deep voice made the words threatening, and dark, sending a shiver up Alandria's spine as she knew exactly what horrors he was speaking of. But she could not deny the flare of anger that his last words caused.

Éowyn's cold stare tore away from her brother then, and flitted to Alandria, over his shoulder. Éomer let her go and turned, his own stare falling on Alandria. The hazel of his eyes appeared black in the firelight, and his handsome features were stern as he sat back down. Éowyn turned and promptly stalked away.

Alandria stepped further forward, claiming the two mens' attention. "Where is Lady Éowyn?"

"You just saw her, did you not?" Éomer muttered around a bite of hard bread.

She glared at him in dislike. "Yes, and I would have spoken with her, had you not run her off."

"I ran her off?" He growled. "You didn't hear the conversation, how can you know what I did or didn't do?"

"I heard enough!" She snapped. "'_War is the province of men_'?" She mimicked with a snarl. "I can't believe you."

He scowled, jaw clenched and eyes hard. "She is my sister. I refuse to let her get herself killed."

Alandria scoffed. "I don't think you have to _let her_ do anything, my lord. She can act for herself."

"Not if I'm around to stop her, she can't."

Alandria clenched her teeth, trying to calm the obnoxious waves of anger. "Fine." She eventually snapped. "Be as useless as you look." She spat the words, and without a glance in Gamling's direction, stalked off in the direction Éowyn had gone.

It did not take her long to track down the pale lady, for she shone bright and white amongst the darkness. She was found speaking to Aragorn, who stood readying his horse, much to Alandria's confusion. They were close together, the Ranger's rough and dirtied hand cradling the side of the cold Lady's face, and Alandria immediately regretted her approach. But it was too late, they had heard her. Aragorn pulled quickly away, and Éowyn merely stared at her blankly, tears glittering in her round eyes. Confusion and worry pushed away the anger she had felt, and Alandria opened her mouth to speak.

"My lady?" She asked softly, watching her friend carefully. Éowyn merely glanced at Aragorn, bowed her head in dismissal, and slowly turned away. Alandria chose to ignore the dark Ranger for the time, and followed the White Lady worriedly. "My lady? Éowyn?" She called after her retreating friend, and managed to step close enough to grasp her arm, pulling her roughly to a halt. "I- sorry." She quickly apologized for her rashness, and released the woman's arm. "What happened? With your brother, and Lord Aragorn?" Her green eyes roved the pale, beautiful face of her friend. "Éowyn?"

The lady shook her head, brushing away another tear. "It is nothing with Éomer. He is only...over-protective. He always has been." She attempted to smile, but it wavered weakly and fell.

"...and Aragorn?"

Éowyn quickly lost what little nerve she had built up in the past moments, as tears filled her eyes again. She took a shaky breath, her whole frail body trembling with it. "It is stupid, I know, but I can't help it, I always thought..." She paused, taking another shaky breath, and then explained it all: "He does not love me."

Sympathy stronger than any she had felt before washed through Alandria, as she reached out to take Éowyn's hand, and then pulled her into an embrace. "I am sorry, Éowyn. So sorry." She tried to comfort her friend, but was unsure what would be right to say. "He is a great man, it is no fault on your part to love him. But..despite how much we love a person..we may not always be loved back. There will be another, my lady."

Éowyn sniffed back her tears, and then pulled out of Alandria's arms, wiping at her eyes. "You are beyond strong to have endured the Lord Boromir's death, my friend." She smiled weakly.

"It is not the same."

"I know." Éowyn stared earnestly into her eyes. "It's worse."

Alandria gazed back for a moment, and then smiled faintly, before taking a step back. "I should leave you alone. You need rest. There will be plenty to do tomorrow."

Éowyn seemed oddly defeated, and did not argue, only nodded and turned away. She paused then, looking back at Alandria. "Do you not need rest as well? Come, retire with me."

"No, thank you my lady. I have already rested." _Against my wishes_. "And I have something to first attend to." Éowyn watched her curiously, but Alandria only smiled again. "Goodnight, my lady."

"Goodnight, Alandria." Éowyn murmured quietly, and silently disappeared.

Alandria watched after the retreating form of her friend for only a moment, and then turned back toward where the Ranger had been. She strode back to him, but he was gone. But she heard voices and the movement of horses from the other side of the camp then, and her brow furrowed and she went to search the Ranger out. She found him quickly, and was surprised to see him mounted on his dark horse. Legolas and Gimli were seated double on Legolas' steed. They were surrounded by a group of Rohan Riders, and Alandria saw even Théoden appear out of the group, and walk away. Once he left, the Riders steadily dispersed, but they muttered and whispered and glanced at the Ranger, Elf, and Dwarf in discontent. Aragorn made as to turn Brego and start away, but Alandria managed to leap before him, halting his mount.

"What are you doing?" She asked, gazing up at him.

The Ranger shifted uncomfortably. "We're leaving, Alandria."

"Leaving? Where?" She glanced at Legolas and Gimli; the former stared back at her evenly, while the latter stared hard at the ground. "Why didn't you find me?"

"It is only us leaving."

Her brows pulled together. "What do you mean? You are leaving me behind? Aragorn, I must come with you!"

"Nay, Alandria." He shook his head. "This path is mine alone."

"They are allowed to go!" She gestured wildly at the Elf and Dwarf, frustration building her anger back up.

"Only because I cannot force them to stay. If I could, I would."

"Our loyalties lie with you, Aragorn." Legolas interrupted smoothly, recieving a sharp glare from the dark-haired woman.

"And do mine not?!"

"They do, I know, Alandria." Aragorn assured her. "But they also lie here, with your people and your King and your Lady Éowyn. You cannot come."

"But here I am not allowed to fight either!"

The Man's turqoise eyes softened as he gazed at her. "That is not my place to co-"

"Don't-" Alandria snapped, furious tears glittering in her lashes. "-say that! My coming with you _is_ your place to command, so why will you not give me the permission?"

"Because I only travel this path knowing I have no other choice; you have a choice, and I will not commit you to our peril."

"Where do you travel to?" He didn't answer, but glanced nervously towards the black crevice against the dark stone wall. His obvious discomfort worried Alandria, but she knew he would not turn from his path. "The Dimholt?!" She exclaimed. "That is sure death!"

"To all but myself, perhaps if I am lucky enough." Aragorn replied, his steady voice contradicting his nervous glances. "Even good Legolas and Gimli I cannot guarantee life. But they will not remain."

"Yet I must? To stay and watch and wait for all I love to die?"

"Alandria-"

"I love each of you!" She pleaded earnestly. "And you leave me here?"

Aragorn sighed, glancing again towards the dark road. "You must look after Éowyn." Alandria opened her mouth to protest again, but Aragorn silenced her with a shake of his dark head and a hard look. "Do not think this is easy for us, Alandria, but there is no other option. You are to stay here. We must go."

"And what task do you hope to accomplish with your leaving?" She argued.

"I cannot tell. But if it should be accomplished, you will surely know." Alandria wanted to argue that his reply was unfairly vague, but already he had urged his steed to move towards the dark path between the mountain. "Take care, Alandria." He bowed his head to her, and then she faced his back, as he slowly faded into the darkness.

Alandria stared after the trio for a long moment, even after they had disappeared beyond sight, to what perils she could only imagine. Anger and frustraion and rejection coursed heavily through her veins, and the familiar presence of such rage was beginning to weary her. But she could not sleep it away, not after having had another nightmare. Instead she turned away from the evil of the Dimholt Road, and strode back through the camp, making her way to her and Éowyn's tent. Tears still glinted fresh and ready in her eyes as she thought over the outrage of Aragorn's abandonment, and they blinded her enough for her shoulder to collide with a man she walked past.

"Alandria?" Éomer's thick voice came softly through the dark. "Are you alright?"

But she ignored him, pressing her lips firmly together, bowing her head, and continuing on, leaving him with a furrowed brow and concern behind her.

* * *

Alandria spent her night pacing about the camp, talking to no one and brooding in her silence. The hours passed quietly, and soon dawn crept over the hills. It's first rays had barely shone across the camps below the cliff-side lookout of the King, and Men began moving about. They ate quickly what meals Éowyn and Alandria and the other cities' women had prepared, then dressed in their freshly polished armor, gathered their weapons, and mounted their eager, equally armored horses. In all, their preparations took less than a couple hours. The sun was not yet fully over the horizon, and Théoden separated his men into their individual éoreds. He spoke to them then, telling them their plan and destination, using his voice to send the hunger for battle coursing through their veins. Alandria found herself drug into a tent by her arm however, and turned in alarm to her Lady Éowyn.

"Éowyn?!" She exclaimed, eyes wide as she took in her lady's appearance. "What are you doing, dressed for battle?"

Éowyn stared back with hard, and unnervingly empty eyes. "I'm riding with them. With my uncle and brother."

"That's madness, my lady."

No emotion showed on the pale woman's face. "It may be. I do not care." She glanced towards the tent flaps, as a rush of hooves passed by. "I brought you aside because I know you do not want to stay behind either. Now hurry, and change. They're leaving soon."

"But Éowyn-" Alandria started nervously, only to be cut off.

"Do you not want to fight then? I thought you had expected to fight. Do you not feel you have a duty to your people and King, even more so now that your friends have left you behind?" The Lady's dark blue eyes were hard, her words oddly stern and clipped. "Do you not feel this is the only option?"

Alandria stared at her friend, taken aback by the ominous seriousness of the woman's words and appearance. But she understood as well: if her King, her friends, and her people were all to go into battle and death, why should she, she who had already fought so much and lost so much, be left behind? "Yes." She answered firmly. "I want to fight."

Éowyn nodded, satisfied, and stepped out to let Alandria change into the armor the Lady had laid out on the bed. She wore her travel-like clothes already, and then a heavy shirt of chain mail over her tunic. Another leather tunic over the chain mail, and then thick vanbraces along her wrists. Rather than bother with the unfamiliar weight of the leaf-mail skirt, she made a mental note to grab a large shield with her weapons. Then she pulled on thick shin-guards to protect below her knees, and finished with the boots and gloves given to her by Lady Galadriel. Nothing could cause her to wear anything in place of those. She longed to wear the dark cloak of Boromir, but feared it would distinguish her too well. Still, she could not bear being parted with it, knowing she likely would not return to see it. So she draped it across her shoulders, but heavily covered it with a dark green cloak of Rohan. She felt unnaturally bulky and heavy once done, but was filled with a sense of pride, and anxiety as well, and stepped out of the tent.

The Lady Éowyn studied her for a moment, before nodding. "Good. You will need a helmet though, and make sure it covers your neck. Your hair is too obvious." She pointed to a tent several paces away. "Grab that one. If it is not taken now, it will not be used."

Alandria obeyed, walking over and picking up the helmet, then folding her hair loosely into her hand, and forcing the helmet over top. Leaf-mail hung from the back of the helmet, and draped over her neck and to her shoulders, hiding her dark hair well. The front of the helm had a band that protected over the nose, and the sides stretched in to protect her cheeks, also effectively shadowing her features. Éowyn nodded again in approval, and Alandria glanced around. "My sword, it's still in our tent. I will get it-"

"Here." Éowyn held out a scabbard different from Alandria's own, and it held a different sword. "This is yours now."

Alandria gingerly took the sword and scabbard, staring at it in awe. The sheath was a dark, red-brown leather, lined with silver; the hilt of the sword was smooth black wood, traced with silver and gold designed into leaves and suns, with a horse's head pointing nose-down the blade, locking into fit in the space at the top of the sheath. She couldn't believe the beauty she held in her hand. Ealdorhelm. "This was my father's..." She whispered. "I thought it had been lost in the battle."

"Éomer found it."Éowyn explained, voice softer than Alandria had yet heard. "I wanted to give it to you immediately, but he said he wasn't sure you were yet ready." She paused, then slowly added. "He kept it with him, until last night. He gave it to me then. I think he knew what I would do with it."

Alandria finally glanced up, eyebrows raised in surprise. "He knows we're riding with them?"

"I'm not sure. He assumes you will be riding, at least."

"Won't he try to stop us?"

"He would have by now if he was going to. But come, I have readied Dustling for you. We must mount now, or else they will have left."

Alandria nodded, strapping the sheath and beautiful sword to her hip as they walked. "I will need a shield, Éowyn, to protect my legs instead of the mail-skirt. And should I have a bow, for if the need comes?"

"Taken care of, both of them. They are on Dustling as well."

Alandria smiled slightly. "You certainly have thought this through." Éowyn didn't answer, and they came to two armored and waiting horses. They each mounted, and Alandria adjusted her helmet uncomfortably, then moved the shield to a more comfortable position on her thigh. Still, she felt odd, but hoped it would pass. Her lady didn't say anything, but cantered her steed forward, making her way swiftly to the throng of Riders gathered and ready. Alandria closely followed, her heart beating quickly. It seemed they hadn't arrived a moment too soon, as Théoden was assigning éoreds routes. Alandria and Éowyn were in a large group assigned to ride with Elfhelm, and Alandria had to check herself to keep from quietly moving to the group Éomer led. He did not need her around. She did not need him around. Her duty was to Éowyn. So she stayed at her friend's side, even as the sea of horses and men finally surged forward, forming a great wave of sound and motion. Alandria dug her heels into Dustling's hide, and he leapt forward eagerly. She cantered beside Éowyn, just a little behind, and then noticed in the midst of the stampeding horses, stood a little lone, curly-headed, blonde man. Merry. She understood immediately why he was standing in the middle of their departure, and acted before thinking. She turned slightly to the left, towards him, and then, once close enough, reached down, grasped his shirt, and lifted with all her strength. The hobbit was swept easily off his feet, and landed roughly in front of her on the saddle. He struggled in surprise for a moment, but Alandria kept her arms around him to hold the reins, and leaned down to talk quietly in his ear.

"I won't leave you behind, Merry."

He turned as best he could to see her, and then smiled. "Thank you, Alandria."

She only smiled briefly, and turned her attention back to the movement of her horse and the horses around her, her heart swelling anxiously. The sound of hoofbeats thundered around, and Alandria didn't think she'd seen or heard or felt anything more ominous, more glorious.


	21. Death

******This is a long chapter. Yes, stating the obvious much, but it is. I just had so much...fun? adventure? while writing it, I couldn't stop. So I hope whoever is reading this is willing to endure the chapter, and - because I am admittedly very excited about it all - I hope you will review. Because I'd love to get opinions on this. **

**As always, thank you SO much for reading, and take care :)**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

They had been riding hard all day, and now finally came to a rest beside a large, sparkling pond. The country was a rich gold, with hills and boulders littered about it. If she hadn't known better, Alandria would have thought this was the same lands she had ridden through for many years. But she had never been this far east. The two women slowed their mounts to a trot, and split away to be by themselves, away from the company of men that might recognize them. Alandria dismounted, and then helped Merry down. He was unsteady after such long riding, and wobbled carefully over to a deteriorating log that lay on the ground. She tossed him a small pack, and he immediately rummaged in it for something to eat, while she glanced around their rest-site. Some men were still on their horses, walking them around slowly, others were at their sides, feeding and watering them and cooling them down; some were sitting down, taking their own rest and finding something quick to eat before they began again. She heard a familiar voice then, and turned to see Éomer trotting Firefoot quickly down a slope towards his uncle.

"...report Minas Tirith is surrounded. The lower level's in flames. Everywhere legions of the enemy advance."

"Time is against us.." She barely heard Théoden breathe in reply. "Make ready!"

Alandria sighed heavily, and rubbed her fingertips into her eyes. "We've only just stopped.." She muttered, and took a gulp from her waterskin. "Does he really expect us to continue like this for another two days, and then go into battle?"

Éowyn shrugged weakly in reply, sliding off her own horse. "It has been done before. Not for many years, since the time of Eorl the Young, but it has been done. We will rest some tonight though, I am sure."

"We had better. Dustling isn't used to this." She rubbed the muzzle of her tall steed affectionately, and he sighed in reply. She smiled faintly.

"I'm not either!" Merry exclaimed, chewing on a chunk of bread, his own helmet laid at his feet. Alandria envied their gold hair, allowing them to free their heads from the stifling metal. "I've only been riding along, but already I'm tired. It's such a long way to go too.."

Éowyn removed her helm for a moment, enjoying the brief freedom from it. She sighed and watched the camp move about. "Take heart, Merry." She said softly. "It will soon be over."

Alandria glanced at her friend, unnerved by her tone, and wasn't comforted in the least by her friend's somber expression. She looked quickly at the hobbit then, and saw he was considering Éowyn critically as well.

"My lady," He started in reply, "you are fair, and brave, and have much to live for. Many who love you. I know it's too late to turn aside. I know there's not much point now in hopin'... If I were a knight of Rohan, capable of great deeds- but I'm not. I'm a hobbit. And I know I can't save Middle-earth.."

Alandria stopped listening then, sobered and thinking over the hobbit's speech so far, turning her gaze back to the rush of men and horses preparing for travel. His words were wise, for a being that was often so foolish. He, even though being a hobbit, was no less capable of 'great deeds' that any Rider. Frodo and Sam were on their way to accompishing the greatest deed. But it was too late to turn aside, and likely no point in hoping-

Her reverie was interrupted by a dark hazel stare locking with her emerald gaze. She was taken aback for a moment, as she could feel the Lord's stare pentrating the shadows of her helm and bulk of her armor - he knew who she was. It was clear in his handsome face, she could read it in his eyes. He saw her, and knew it was her. Yet he made no move, simply stared for a moment, and then turned to reply to a soldier that had been talking to him. She shivered slightly, and then swung herself into Dustling's waiting saddle.

"Prepare to move out!" Éomer's command sounded almost as if he'd been waiting for her to mount, and was followed by Théoden's orders.

"Make haste! We ride through the night!" A horn bellowed after his announcement, and the rush to be back in the saddle and ride again increased. Merry and Éowyn had finished their conversation, and she nudged her steed towards them.

"Merry, do you mind riding with Éowyn now? It might be better if we exchange you back and forth on our horses." She paused, and then looked at her Lady for permission. "My lady?"

"Of course, Alandria." Éowyn nodded, and forced her helm back on. Merry did the same, and then Éowyn lifted him into her saddle she mounted behind him, and looked at Alandria, fair features dirt and sweat-stained and firm. "To battle?"

Alandria nodded firmly. "To battle."

"To battle!" Merry echoed, and a slightly smile flickered on Alandria's lips, before quickly fading as hoofbeats approached her. As she turned to face the arrival, Éowyn turned hastily and trotted several yards away with Merry.

"What company are you with?" Éomer asked roughly, his features not showing that he knew her identity.

"Elfhelm, my lord." She answered formally, hoping she was making her voice convincingly gruff. She thought she saw a flash of a smirk as she spoke.

"You will ride with me now."

His declaration caught her off-guard, she gaped for a moment before clearing her throat. "Uh, my lord, may I enquire why?"

He stared at her for a long moment again, dark gaze boring into her, making comments his voice did not. "I need another Rider."

She almost laughed at his weak excuse. "Just one other? Is that not..well, pointless?" She prayed he didn't see the smirk the kept twitching her lips.

Éomer's features stayed straight, giving nothing away. "You will ride with me." He repeated, and then turned and trotted away.

Alandria stared after him for a moment, and seriously considered disobeying his order and staying with Éowyn and Merry. But then another part of her twisted with a want to be near _him_ as they rode into battle, longing for the pride that would come with that post: being under the order of Éomer, sister-son of the King, Marshall of the Mark. It was a foolish aspiration, she knew, but knew no other reason for why she longed to be at his side as they rode to war. And so she glanced to where Éowyn and Merry stood watching her from a distance, waiting to see what Éomer had said or done, and what she now would do. She raised her hand briefly, and then turned Dustling and trotted towards Éomer and his large group of Riders. She kept her head low, but none gave her so much as a second glance. Not that there was time to, either. The moment she had come a stop at Éomer's éored, horns blew again, and Théoden cried for movement. Horses jostled for a moment, and then rushed forward in a wave of flesh and metal.

* * *

Three days they'd been riding, several times during the night as well. The sun was just rising now, bright and gold, adding little warmth to the chill air. Alandria felt the strange rush of adrenaline begin to course through her veins as they neared a low hill. Her tense body jumped uneasily at the first blast of horns; they cried out low, and strong, wailing proud notes that she knew would be heard even in the city before them. She feared what they would see once they came to the crest of the hill. Would the White City have fallen already? Would it be grey now, a pile of ash and flames? Would the fields before it also be black, with the bodies of foul orcs and other creatures of Mordor? The thoughts pulsed through her head, and she found it difficult to breathe in the midst of the thousands of Riders. Suddenly she felt too cramped, locked in by the bodies, surrounded and unable to escape, unable to survive. Frantically, her dark eyes roved over the bodies before her, searching. They all looked they same: brown horses, tall men with long blonde hair hidden beneath helms, strong bodies covered in metals and leathers, spears and axes and bows and swords in hand. But she managed to find him: Éomer, sitting proudly upon his tall, dark grey, dancing stallion, a long lance in hand. He was in the first row of the army, whereas she was three behind him. Then the sea of men and horses stopped moving.

Alandria stared past the rows of Riders before her, down the golden hillside, to the startling and unnerving image below. Her fear of a sea of black bodies had not been entirely incorrect - she'd never seen so many orcs and foul creatures in one place. She hadn't thought so many existed. They were formatted into enourmous squares and rectangles, and trailed nearly a mile before the great city of Minas Tirith. Even with such a huge number before the city, she could tell plenty were already inside it: fires and smoke rose from the lower levels. Upon noticing this, she turned her observations to the city for a moment, remembering all Boromir had told her of his city. She could see even now - with monsters at it's gates, smoke rising from it's streets, and walls and towers smashed and obliterated from evil weapons - the beauty and power he had spoken of. It was like a grand pearl against the darker mountain; dirtied now, perhaps, but strong and hard and glowing palely in the sunrise. She could only imagine the splendour inside it. Inside. They would never get inside, if they did not defeat the hoards of monsters still outside the City's walls. She glanced around the immense wave of Mordor's minions nervously, and swallowed, before becoming distracted by a white horse breaking away from the formation of éorlingas, and prancing back and forth before them. It was Théoden, galloping across the length of his Riders.

"Éomer!" He called. "Take your éored down the left flank.. Gamling! Follow the King's banner down the center.. Grimbold! Take your company right, after you pass the wall." The appointed men moved their horses to better match up with their companies, and barked short orders at their riders. "Forth! And fear no darkness!" The King slowed to an energetic trot, becoming more personal with the mass of Riders before him. "Arise! Arise, Riders of Théoden! Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword day - a red day. Ere the sun rises!" The Lord's voice bellowed out with his last words, as he galloped along the line again.

Alandria felt what she knew they all felt - no more worry, no more fear, only a burning strength and eagerness to be in battle, and make the King's words true. As if on cue, the Riders around her lowered their spears, so they pointed almost directly in front of them. Alandria did the same, with a lance she had acquired amidst their riding. She trembled with anxiety as Théoden unsheathed his sword, and raised it to knock against all the spears pointed before him as he charged down the line. With every second that passed, she could feel the fiery tension of battle in the air thicken.

"Ride now!" Théoden cried as he rode. "Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin, and the world's ending!" The words seemed to echo across them, and Alandria closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. _"Death!" _Théoden's bellow forced her eyes open, and she saw he stood before his Riders, sword raised towards the enemy before them.

"Death!" The men around her echoed like a roar of water on rocks.

_"Death!"_

"Death!!"

_"Deeaatthh!!"_

"Deeeaaattthhhh!!!" Their cries, Alandria's included, flooded over Théoden's cry, and the black mass of orc-horror before them seemed to tremble with the sound. The horses were jumping, crying, biting at each other in anxiety.

_"Forth éorlingas!"_ Théoden swung his sword forward, and the bold, elegant horns bellowed out their charge. Théoden and Snowmane started forward, and the horses behind followed eagerly. Dustling, who had never been in a proper battle, did not even need the faintest encourgement to go on. He leapt forward with almost dangerous eagerness, and Alandria roared out a cry again with the men and horses surrounding her. The trot her steed jumped into seemed slow for a while, until the Riders before her sped up, and the ground appeared between riders. With the room, Dustling broke into a canter, a fast canter, and soon became part of the galloping mass of horseflesh that surrounded Alandria. She could hardly breathe, knowing now that _this_ was battle. _This_ was what she'd been preparing for all these years, more so on this journey than ever before. Who might have ever known that she, a Rider's daughter, would ever travel to Rivendell, and ever become part of something so huge, to land her in the midst of one of the greatest battles Middle-earth had ever seen?

The great, black mass of orcs was nearer now, nearer with every passing second. Keeping her wits about her, she remembered to steer Dustling to follow Éomer and his company to the left. Théoden and his huge legion of éored sped forward, the white steed Snowmane bright against the others Riders, and flying ahead with astonishing speed. But the white horse was not her lead - the huge dark dapple was. Then a horse to her left suddenly dropped, squealing, and disappeared. Two more up ahead did the same - falling, rolling head over heels, smashing their Riders. Arrows, a part of her said, they're shooting arrows. Another horse screamed and fell as if to prove this. But on Dustling galloped, and the wind threatened to whip her helmet off. She could now see the orcs before them, as they inched nervously backwards, shifting in fear. Good. They were closer now, closer. She could see the sharp weapons in each monster's hand. She could nearly see the whites of their eye-

Clashing metal, screaming horses, thudding flesh, squealing, roaring orcs, yelling men, thundering hooves - all the sounds suddenly collided like a clap of thunder. Alandria was no longer steering Dustling - he moved wherever the turmoil of battle thrust him. She barely remembered the lance in her hand, and stabbed it downward only just in time to slay a large, snarling orc. She tore the weapon out, and then thrust again, into another monster. But she was quick to realize the spear was not for her. Tearing it's blackened and bloody head out of the stomach of an orc, she twisted in the saddle and flung it with what strength she had at a wolfish Warg that snarled and snapped nearby. It lodged just in the chest, and the beast yelped, before collapsing. She turned Dustling, and he whinnyed as his shoulder collided with several orcs. Alandria quickly drew Ealdorhelm, and the blade flickered dangerously, before slicing deep into an orc's shoulder. Still her mount tried to gallop on, and as he swiftly moved among the battle she swept the singing blade from side to side, cutting down the foul creatures quickly. But the mess of battle was quickly becoming too thick, and Dustling was slowing, trying to pick his way between the moving bodies.

The shield resting above her left thigh proved immensely useful, as she cut and thrust primarily to her open right. She felt a hammering blow shake the wooden shield and turned, to see a black orc with orange-red eyes snarl and swing his crude blade at her leg again. Again his blow knocked against the wood, leaving a deep mark. Alandria yelled, and smoothly thrust straight into the beast. Ealdorhelm slid easily through the tattered leather armor, skin, and breastbone, coming to a stop deep inside the orc's chest. It squealed hideously, and Alandria merely snarled before yanking the blade back out. Turning back to her right, she hacked at a large, hunched and armored orc, her blade ringing against it's thin, black shield. Two more blows and she broke through the shield, then thrust down into the creature's back as it turned to try and foolishly flee.

Once the creature fell, she nudged Dustling forward again. The gelding was bewildered by the bloody chaos of the battle but remained loyal, attempting to go where she pressed him. He eagerly bit and kicked at any that got too close to his head and rear, and took down several orcs on his own. Alandria continued her attacks, thrusting and stabbing and slicing with snarls and yells. Once or twice the orcs would manage to land their own blows on her, but they were weak compared to her armor and the height upon her horse, resulting only in tears of her clothing or an unseen bruise. After slicing the blackened blade of Ealdorhelm down across the shoulders of yet another orc, Alandria sat straight for a breath, her eyes finally roving the battle around her.

All around her was a massive, continuing sea of black. It moved hectically and savagely, but constantly. Rising out of it every few meters was a horse and rider, battling the monsters below them with all their might. Although now and again a Rider would fall, drug under by the mass of black creatures, more often, Alandria was surprised and pleased to see, the warriors would manage to cut down a clear path. The squeal of another orc caught her attention, and she quickly turned to her left to stab at it, and take it down. Then while facing her left, she saw the large, grey, dappled horse that stamped and pranced wildly less than six meters away. It's Rider cried out savagely, thrusting the lance he still held through the head of a monster, the sharp point bursting brutually out the back of the skull. But his savage attack proved troublesome. The lance stuck, and in the brief moment that he tried uselessly to tug the weapon back out, the massive swarm of Mordor-scum that surrounded him leapt forward. An axe-blow just missed his arm as he jerked it back, a sword sliced weakly across his back, a spear stabbed crazily at his steed, who then shrieked and reared in pain and terror. Éomer was thrown off-balance, and grasped the pommel desperately. Alandria had pushed her way through by then though, and quickly hacked away at the the orcs around the man. Dustling stood beside the larger, dark steed of the Lord, and the protection he provided to that one side allowed Éomer to right himself again. He glanced at Alandria, and she caught the edge of a smile on his dirtied features. But he only nodded, then quickly turned back to the work of slashing and stabbing and killing. Alandria did the same, finding reassurance and greater strength in seeing the tall man, and gladly thrust Ealdorhelm deep into the bowels of another monster, just as a new horn sounded.

The tribal-bay of the horn came from behind her, and with it she noticed a strange pounding, like immense drums. But drums strong enough to shake the earth. Alandria froze, lowering her blade, as the orcs fled past her with a frightening sort of cheer and enthusiasm. She tried to discern what was happening purely from sound, but none of it made sense. Slowly, seeing other Riders staring past her with horrified and awed expressions, she reluctantly turned around. And immediately wished she hadn't.

Huge, impossibly huge, Mumakil marched in a line across the Fields of Cormallen, each immense beast carrying small, open houses atop them, brimming with grinning Haradrim. The creatures stood taller than the largest houses Alandria had yet seen, each with several long, wickedly curved ivory tusks protruding from their tiny mouths, and odd assortments of armor decorating them. Panic began to creep into her system, freezing her muscles and speeding up her heart. She stared at the new terror, wide eyed and horrified, her belief that the battle could still turn in their favor dissolving quickly. The Mumakil were impossibly enormous, despite the stories she'd heard. Horses would be crushed under a mere footstep. And she wasn't blind to the spiked ropes strung between their tusks, so that when the beasts moved, anything that tried to go between the giant tusks would be cut down. Brutually.

"Reform the line! Reform the line!" Théoden's voice broke through Alandria's terror, and she obeyed with what was left of the Rohirrim, riding towards their King. He waited only a moment for the Riders to assemble, and then led another attack upon the approaching Haradrim and their mounts.

Alandria's fear transferred down to Dustling, and he shied whenever another Rider came too close, flinching at each heavy stomp of the Mumakil. His discomfort reminded Alandria to calm herself, and slowly she was able to - focusing more on the Riders around her than the beasts before them. She was merely able to notice that a surprising number of Riders still rode - and then the thunderous footsteps of the Mumakil were louder, and louder, and she was forced to pay attention. The huge, tusk-ed monsters were horrifyingly close, their shadows cast upon the sea of moving horses. And then the beasts began to shake their heads as if to rid themselves of a bother; Alandria realized quickly what they were really doing - swinging their great tusks back and forth to knock down any creature that ran past, the spiked ropes between some sets of ivory further preventing any escape. Fear and helplessness struck her clean through then, as at the same time the first of horses clashed into the giant Mumak.

The screams and squeals of crushed and slaughtered horses rung through the air, sounding in pattern with the great thuds and roars of the Mumakil. Horses and Riders were flung into the air and across the field by the swinging tusks, some were driven down by the spiked ropes, and others were merely crushed underfoot. Alandria flinched at the noises, her heartbeat in her ears, but still drove Dustling on towards the monsters. He came nearer to a huge beast, and she could feel him tense but he still obeyed her commands and galloped on. She held her breath as they rushed forward, timing their pass so that the swing of the creature's head was in the opposite direction, and praying to all the gods that they would make it through. And they did. The sun was blocked by the monstorous forms of the Mumakil, but Alandria and her mount wove safely between two of the great beasts, and emerged to the other side alive. They came upon the mass of orcs that had swept behind their reinforcements, and Alandria dashed Dustling forward to hew down a handful of the creatures before wheeling him about to face the Haradrim again. Still their giant mounts stamped and bashed and slaughtered the Rohirrim, and Alandria watched the great number they'd had diminish before her eyes helplessly. Those that survived passing through the now-scattered line of Mumak turned about as Alandria did though, and then charged back through, swinging their seemingly-tiny blades, and shooting their pin-prick-arrows. With a yell, Alandria kicked Dustling into a gallop again, and rushed forward to offer what little service she could.

Still the giant Mumakil towered overhead, and as they approached, fear struck Alandria again. But she shoved it aside, steering Dustling with her legs as she replaced Ealdorhelm in it's sheath, and reached over her shoulder to grasp the short bow she'd brought. Arrows were stowed in a saddle-side quiver in front of her right leg, and she settled one on her bow just as she nudged Dustling faster. The gelding responded obediently, and Alandria took a moment to steady herself, before looking almost directly up and aiming for a moment at the throng of men amidst the house-like structure on the Mumak, and then released her dart. She didn't bother to see if it flew true before notching another, and releasing it to the same spot. And then she lowered the bow, holding it with her right hand, and grasped the reins with her left to cautiously weave Dustling through the the trunk-like legs of a Mumakil. They emerged from the side, avoiding the tusks, and galloping behind another creature. The Haradrim's mounts were no longer in a line, but scattered crazily throughout the field, trampling and killing whatever was unfortunate to get in their path. Alandria dropped the reins again to let Dustling find his way, and fired arrow after arrow up at the stacks on the creature's backs. She considered shooting at the beasts themselves, then quickly dismissed the thought. It would take an entire army to take down a single Mumakil, and she had not the time to waste on one creature. Instead she resolved to shoot at the men controlling them, hoping to have some effect.

A bellowing roar caught her attention, and she grabbed at the reins in alarm as only a hundred yards ahead, one of the monstrous beasts turned sharply and crashed straight into another. It's head caught under the other's legs, both fell clumsily, and bellowed painfully. Riders swarmed to the location to further hew at the helpless - although still dangerous - beasts, and to kill their now-vulnerable drivers. Alandria let them do their work, and instead kept to shooting at the Mumak that still roved by, bellowing and slaughtering still more Riders. A shadow suddenly dropped over Alandria and Dustling, and she barely had time to glance up before the immense Mumak that has risen to it's hind-legs toppled over, shaking the ground and causing anything nearby to drop as well. The force of the creature's collapse was not near enough for it to land on the lady-Rider, but enough to shake her loose from the saddle. Her left foot slipped loose, and she slid the same direction, her right hand barely finding a hold on the pommel. She would have stayed on, but the orcs she had nearly forgotten were still swarming everywhere, and a handful saw her slip. Before she could manage to pull herself right again, they rushed forward, and rather than be struck down half-in the saddle, she let herself drop to the ground. The sound of wood that she knew was her bow splintered beneath her, but as she fell she drew Ealdorhelm to be ready.

An orc was upon her before she could get back to her feet, but she simply thrust Ealdorhelm straight up into his stomach. The black blood flowed down the blade and to her hands, making them slick with it, but she merely kicked the monster off the end of her sword. She rolled to avoid the swift blow of another orc, realizing only then she'd lost her helmet and her dark hair hung freely, and then scrambled clumsily to her feet, her legs weak from the riding. The creature snarled and swung crudely at her head, which she easily parried, and then swept quickly around to slice at his stomach. She opened a cut in his side, elicting another snarl, and then hacked down upon his shoulder and chest, forcing him down with a dying gurgle. She limped a step on half-numb legs, then was met with another foe. She blocked once, twice, and stumbled back to avoid a wide swing taken towards her stomach, then slashed the creature across the side from the left, and thrust her blade into his gut.

"Rally to me!" Théoden's muffled voice broke through the clash of blades and screams of horses, Mumakil, orcs, and men. "To me!" Alandria paid his command little attention, her sword already locked in battle with another orc. But her blows where shaken as a piercing scream shattered through the senseless din of battle. It was high pitched, screeching, and it struck an almost numbing icicle of terror straight into her heart. Shaking slightly, Alandria forced herself on, and to not look to see what had made such a noise. Once she had disemboweled the creature before her, she turned to where the King's voice had come from. But as she turned, she saw only a great, black, winged, serpent-like horror crouched where Théoden should have been, and in the small mouth attached to the body, something was flung to the ground.

Dread began to creep upon her, but she could not linger on the scene as more orcs swarmed forward, demanding her attention. A scrawny, pasty-faced piece of scum leapt at her, only to be quickly hewn beneath Ealdorhelm. Another small creature leapt at her from the side, latching onto her and causing her to stumble. She quickly dropped her blade, and spun to beat the orc off of her. He only managed to slash uselessly at her chain-mail-covered arms, then land a weak punch on her left cheekbone, then she got him to drop, and stabbed him repeatedly with a discarded orc-blade until he ceased to move. Her hands were again slick with the disgusting black blood, and she could smell the reek of decaying orc flesh all around from her position on the ground. With a disgusted grumble, she wiped her hands on her trousers, and then looked for her blade. A growl came from nearby, and she glanced towards it just in time to avoid the swing of a large axe. Alandria rolled towards where she knew Ealdorhelm lie, and away from the big brute of an orc that had suddenly appeared. She only just grasped her sword and clambered to her feet when the orc swung the broad axe straight at her head. She ducked, and stumbled, but quickly caught her balance. She didn't dare try to block his blows with her weaker blade, and instead lunged quickly forward to thrust at the orc. He dodged, and swung back. She danced away, and then swiped. He avoided the attack with only a scratch through his leather tunic. They continued their pointless duel for over a minute, and sweat was beginning to finally slide down Alandria's brow. She now understood Éomer's short 'lesson' those days ago outside of Edoras. Finally the great orc over-swung, and stumbled forward with his miss. Alandria took the moment to cut him deeply from shoulder to thigh, and then thrust Ealdorhelm quickly into his soft stomach, twice. He snarled viciously still though, and swung once more with his axe. Alandria had relaxed after her attack, and had not been ready for the final blow. The flat of the axe struck only, but it slammed into her left side with the force of a horse's kick. Alandria wasn't sure if she felt the small snaps or heard them, but was thrown to the ground with a cry, and lay there for a moment, stunned by pain.

Slowly, after a moment that felt like eternity, she climbed unsteadily to her feet. The left side of her ribs felt as if she was being stabbed with knives with every breath, and her steps were uneven with the pain. But wounds or no, the orcs that still covered the Fields of Cormallen like a deathly shadow would not be swayed. More leapt at her, and she knocked them away with winces and grunts and gasps. One orc that was a few inches less than her in height leapt forward with a screech, bright gold eyes glittering bizarrely. He seemed to snicker savagely.

"'ey girlie, wuz a lady doin' out 'ere? Yeh gots yerself a hurtin' did yeh?" He pointed with his black blade at her left side, which she leaned towards and kept gently holding a hand to, then snickered again. "Yeh should've stayed at home, Horse-whore."

Alandria snarled and rushed forward, ignoring the splice of pain in her ribs. She swung strongly, and her sword clashed with his, then was thrust aside. She stumbled only a second, then pulled back, and managed to jam her blade into his ribs. He bared his fouled teeth, and hammered the hilt of his sword brutually into her jaw, cheek splitting upon teeth. She stumbled, still holding to her sword, and he bashed into her jaw again. Grinding her teeth together, Alandria thrust deeper into the orc, until he sagged against her blade. She let him slide off the sword, spat the blood that filled her mouth, and continued in the battle.

A bizarre image met her eye, then. She thought she saw a flicker of green from the corner of her vision. It came again. After slicing Ealdorhelm smoothly across an annoying orc's throat, she turned to further understand the green. Yes, it was green. A strange, bright green she hadn't seen before. And it was _moving._ Moving, like a wave, and leaving nothing but destruction in it's path. Dead orcs lay in heaps behind it, yet not one dead green-being could she see. It didn't make sense. She watched in awe as the great wave split smoothly apart, swarming up to take down the giant Mumakil with horrifying ease, slaughtering orcs, and then speeding towards the city. Her awe was shattered by her own scream then, as a stab of fire thrust into her right thigh. She fell to her knees, balancing primarily on her left leg, and gasped with electricuting pain. Wave after burning, searing wave of pain coursed through her body, breaking out a suffering sweat across her skin and forcing her to gasp for a safe breath. Hesitantly, her eyes dropped to where the main source of pain lay in her right leg. A long black arrow shaft protruded from her thigh, the dark red and gold feathers on the end showing it to be of the Haradrim. One, either from one of the few still-standing Mumakil or simply from the ground, must have shot at her while she stood still. And now the arrow lay embedded deeply in her thigh, blinding her sight with white sparks of pain. A feeling like heavy, warm water began to course steadily down her leg. She refused to look at it, shuddering at the horrid sensation, and then wincing with a small gasp again.

Then, one of the orcs she'd nearly forgotten existed sprung into her sight. He grinned savagely, obviously assessing the pain she was already in and the easy target she made. She stood unsteadily, sweat coating her skin, panting heavily from the pain she was so unused to. The orc lunged forward, and she sloppily blocked his blow, stumbling afterwards. He sneered and lunged again, knicking her arm. Fear for her own life finally seeped past the pain and into her system. It startled her, shook her, and blinded her to pain for the moment - she stepped forward with her left leg, lip curled back, and slashed left, right, throwing the orc's defending blade aside, and then sliced cleaning across his stomach twice, before thrusting quickly in, and tearing back out, letting him collapse with a squeal.

And then the world seemed frozen, horribly silent and still. There were no more screams of battle and pain; no longer the clash of sword and whistle of arrows; no creatures roaring or neighing or screeching. The air was still and quiet, and Alandria did not move, but looked around herself slowly. Scattered men and horses limped about, regrouping or, like her, just taking in the horrorified victory. A wave of pale, sickly green shimmered a hundred yards away, but she was too dazed to wonder again what it might have been. Giant mounds lay scattered about the huge battlefield - fallen Mumakil, the huge elephant-creatures still intimidating even dead. Stray lances and arrows and abandoned shields and swords littered the ground. Then her eyes fell on the corpses. Corpses everywhere, everywhere she looked. At her feet, to her right, to her left, yards and yards away. Bloody, blank, rotting corpses of Orcs, and foul Men, and horses, and Rohan Men, and even the few Gondorian Men. Arrows protruded from their still forms; limbs were hewn off and throats slashed; their blood soaked the ground. When she spotted the first familiar face - just a man that she had seen in Meduseld a few times; she didn't even know his name - she forced herself to look away. But the dead were everywhere, and her legs felt weak as she began to stumble aimlessly away from the body she had just seen.

A scream broke the odd silence then. It was the most chilling, heart-wrenching scream Alandria had ever heard - more so than the high-pitched screech she had heard before, what felt like hours ago. It was deep, rough and heartbroken and male, but filled with a tortured agony she had never experienced before. She turned at the sound of it, just as it broke into shorter screams, sobbing screams. Vague, shaky disbelief passed through her as she saw it was Éomer who screamed so horrifyingly. He knelt, his strong body still shaking with sobs, and grasped a body in his arms. More disbelief, followed by an unrealistic numbness, hit her then as she recognized the body as that of the Lord's sister, her close friend, Éowyn. Éowyn. Dead? No. But the echoes of Éomer's horrible screaming said different.

Slowly and unsteadily, Alandria limped forward, and was vaguely aware that Éomer and Éowyn were collapsed beside a white horse, bright against the stained earth. The arrow still lodged firmly in her thigh fought for her attention and flared in protest, but she wasn't feeling it. Instead she approached the sobbing man slowly, just as Aragorn rushed towards him from the other direction. She stumbled to a stop then, still several yards away, and unconsciously gasped in pain, watching the scene before her intently. Aragorn somehow persuaded Éomer to release the body of his beloved sister, and then the Ranger carefully studied her face before leaning forward and placing his ear near her mouth. After a moment he leaned back, relief clear on his rugged face. Éomer visibly relaxed as well and at Aragorn's words, gave his sister and the Ranger some room. Aragorn placed his hand carefully on her forehead, features intense again, and then with words Alandria did not hear, he called for assistance. Two un-wounded Rohan Men appeared to help, just as the first black patches tainted Alandria's vision. She shook her head to dislodge whatever it was that clouded her sight, but now there seemed to be a mist about everything. She muttered a curse in aggravation, and stumbled another couple steps forward. The Men heard her then, and all looked up in surprise.

"Alandria?" Éomer cried, dark eyes widening in fear and rushing forward, just as her legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees. His strong arms caught her just as she fell forward, strength sapped with agony. Her gasp of pain was audible to even Aragorn, as the searing burn of the embedded arrow hit her afresh. Only then did her wounds truly begin to hurt: the right side of her face ached and stung, her left ribs seemed to stab her inside with every breath, her right leg throbbed with fire at the arrow, and the half dozen other smaller cuts and bruises she'd received seemed enhanced. "Oh gods.." The Horse-lord breathed, and she felt his breath against her cheek, just as more spots of darkness further blinded her.

"Éomer.." She mumbled, suddenly finding the pain unbearable and her body too weak and hurt to move.

"Shh, sweetheart. I've got ya." The words were lost on Alandria, and the tall man gingerly lifted her into his strong arms, flinching as she gasped and moaned in further pain. "Aragorn!" He cried, looking desperately towards the Ranger, who was still kneeling beside Éowyn. He walked back towards the dark-haired man, careful as he could not to jostle Alandria.

Aragorn rose to his feet, and quickly his turquoise eyes roved over the woman's wounded body. "Take her to the healers as fast as you can, Éomer. Have them remove the arrow, and staunch the bleeding. I should be there by then, and will see what I may need to do." He was trying not to look worried, but Éomer could see through it. Both men knew, although they could only see the arrow wound and bruise on her face, Alandria couldn't possibly be strong enough to endure much beyond those injuries.

But the Horse-lord nodded, glancing down at his sister once more. "And Éowyn?"

"I am waiting for the litter I called for to arrive. Then she too will be taken to the healers, and I will follow." He sighed. "There will be much work to be done."

Éomer said nothing in reply, merely glanced down at the body in his arms, her face pale and bruised, her lip split and bleeding, dark hair loose and haggard, emerald-green eyes half-open and glazed. His dark brow furrowed in deep worry, and he turned to carefully walk to the walls of Minas Tirith, and the House of Healing. His movement unsettled her for a moment though, and she whimpered softly.

"I'm sorry, love. It'll be better soon." She gave no reply as the hazed glimpses she had of his handsome face further faded. She whimpered faintly again, muttered something incoherent, and unconsciously her blood-blackened right hand reached up to grasp the firm collar of his breast-plate. It did not loosen as her mind and eyesight fell to darkness.


	22. Certain of Nothing

******Hello again, everyone. I apologize for delaying this update by so long, but I've been busy with lots of school work and such, and updating slipped my mind for a while. But I hope this chapter makes up for it - both in length and quality - and thank you to those of you still sticking with the story :)**

**Cheers**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

_Eomer's POV_

Éomer, son of Éomund, and the only remaining heir to the lordship of Rohan, was terrified. He had been in countless battles, rarely with even odds, and had known that every time he faced an all-too possible death. Just hours ago he had been caught in the midst of the most immense battle he'd ever seen, and not felt any victory. Yet now, seated between the bodies of two unconscious women, he was more terrified than he could remember ever being. His sister lay on his right, her breaths so shallow the rise and fall of her chest was hardly visible, and her skin horribly pale. Alandria lay on his left, and was the opposite of Éowyn - her breathing was heavier than normal, and her skin was flushed with an unseen heat. The possibility of death weigh heavily on both. And that knowledge terrified him.

"Éomer?" The golden-haired man looked up eagerly at his name, recognizing the voice. Aragorn had entered the room quietly, and now stood at the feet of the unconscious women.

Éomer rose quickly to his feet, dark hazel eyes wide and worried. "Can you do something?"

"I hope so." The Ranger was studying both bodies, brow furrowed. "Éowyn first - she I am most worried about." Éomer did not answer other than to glance at Alandria for a moment, and then turn back to watch the dark-haired man kneel by his sister. He felt her face again, listened to her breathing, and then frowned. "Can you retrieve a nurse for me?" Éomer nodded and did as he was told, returning quickly with an eldery woman.

"You need me, lord?"

"Have you seen this before?" Aragorn gestured at the unconscious Éowyn.

"The lady, sir?"

"The symptoms."

The nurse knelt and re-enacted Aragorn's previous actions, before sighing. "Aye, only once, and I've not an idea what it is."

"Where have you seen it?"

"The Lord Faramir, sir. He's the same but with more of a fever, and has been since before the battle."

Aragorn swore softly, alarming both Éomer and the nurse, then sighed. "Have you any _athelas_?"

The nurse didn't seem to know it. "_Athelas_?"

"Kingsfoil."

"Ah, that sir. No, I don't think we do. It's a weed anyway, ain't it sir? We don't keep weeds in the stores."

"Weed maybe, but it's the only thing that will help. Search the city, find anyone that has some." The woman hesitated. "Quickly!" She jumped at the suddenly harsh tone, and scurried away.

Éomer watched her leave, then turned back to the man kneeling still by his sister. "Will the kingsfoil truly help?"

"If anything can, yes. This is not something I've had to treat before."

"What is it?"

"Black Breath. Curse of the Nazgul. It sends the victim to unconsciousness, and at times fever, and they have nothing but horrible dreams until they lose the will to live." Aragorn paused, blue-green eyes focused intently on Éowyn's pale features. "And they die."

More fear struck into Éomer then, but he did not let it show. "And Alandria?" He asked softly, turning back to the other woman.

Aragorn only then seemed to remember her and looked up, observing the body barely over a foot away. "I do not think she has the Black Breath but," He stood and quietly padded to her side, opposite Éomer's once again seated figure. "I cannot be sure." He felt her forehead, and winced. He glanced down at her right leg, where a bloody bandage was tied tightly around the thigh where a broken arrow shaft still protruded. "Has anyone checked for any further injuries?"

"Not that I saw."

"And did you see everything?"

"Yes."

"Then they did not." Aragorn muttered something, and then lifted his head, whistling sharply. Éomer flinched at the unexpected noise, but it received the response Aragorn had hoped for - every nurse and healer in the large room paused and looked his way. "I need one free woman to check a lady for injuries, and clean and wrap any she finds." He waited a moment, and a girl, not more than twenty, stepped nervously forward. At the same time, the nurse Aragorn had previously spoken with reappeared. "Éomer." Aragorn simply said gesturing towards Alandria, and then turned back to Éowyn.

The Horse-lord hesitated for only a moment, before taking charge of the young girl. "The lady here needs to be checked for any further injuries. Do what is needed to clean and heal them, then get her back here. Understood?"

"Yes, milord." The young girl nodded meekly.

"Find some men to help you move her, if needed."

"Yes, milord."

Éomer gazed down at Alandria's ailing body again, and both fear and pain twisted his features as he sighed. "Be careful with her."

* * *

The fear had not left. It had only grown. Only now, to make it worse, guilt and horror had added to it. The nurse that had returned had brought with her a few dried leaves of _athelas_ and although Aragorn was grateful, he declared he would need the plant fresh to truly make it work. The city was being scraped for any still, and the Ranger-healer was doing what he could in the meantime: helping heal many others with their less-complicated injuries, and returning to check on Alandria, Éowyn, and Faramir, who all had been moved to their own room. Éomer was left to watch and wait helplessly. Alandria, it had been revealed, sustained more injuries than had been obvious. The skin on her left side was bruised an ugly black and purple, and her ribs appeared to be cracked. The arrow wound in her thigh had been deep, bled much, and - to his horror - poisoned. When they had removed the shaft she'd yelped and thrashed a second, then fallen silent and still again. Although Aragorn has reassured Éomer that the poison could be - and was - drawn easily, and with the help of some medicines she would recover from it, the golden-haired man was still concerned. The bruise on her face had split the skin on her jaw, and her teeth had ground bloody into her cheek, but it was otherwise harmless. But her unconsciousness was feverish, immensely so, and both men knew her lack of sleep and food had not left her the proper strength to fight the wounds and blood loss. Aragorn could not give an answer to Éomer's terrified, guilt-ridden question - would she make it?

"Éomer?" The Ranger's voice was soft, although the bodies nearby were not likely to wake. "Should you not be arranging care of your uncle's body?"

The Horse-lord sighed, dark features miserable as he remembered the other sorrow he had to bear. Théoden's death. "I told the men a while ago to find a lone room to lay him in, and have the caretakers embalm him. We will bury him when we return to Rohan." Aragorn nodded, and as he listened, poured a pitcher of steaming water into a wooden bowl, before pulling out his worn leather pouch of herbs. Éomer watched in curiosity as the older man selected a few light brown leaves, crushed them to powder in another bowl, then dumped them into the bowl of water. "Is that the _athelas_?"

"No. This is for her." Aragorn nodded towards Alandria, and handed the bowl to Éomer. "Try to have her drink it. It will help her strength."

Éomer obeyed nervously, having no skill in such areas. Alandria coughed for a second, then after he tried slower and fewer drops, it appeared to go down her throat. "Will she be alright, Aragorn?" He asked for the tenth time.

Aragorn looked at the large, concerned man kindly, watching him focus on Alandria and his task. "I hope so."

"But do you think so?" Éomer's dark, dark gaze raised to stare at the Ranger, his eyes wide and brow drawn together in worry.

Aragorn hesitated only a moment. "Yes." His answer seemed to satisfy the Horse-lord for the time being. "Keep soaking that cloth in the bowl of cold water and cleaning away the sweat from her face. The coolness should help."

"I know."

The reply was not curt or snide, merely soft and defeated. It worried Aragorn, but he had more important things to worry about at the moment. He knelt at Faramir's side now, doing to the rust-haired man what he'd just instructed Éomer to do - cleaning away the heat and sweat from the fevered man with a cool, wet cloth. He had been at first surprised to see the young man, knowing immediately whom he was. The resemblance to Boromir was clear, and unsettling for a moment, until he forced himself to the task of healing. Now he felt only sadness, fearing to have both of the sons of Denethor die in his care.

"Lord Aragorn?" He looked up at his name, and the eldery nurse finally reappeared, seeming much more cheerful. "We've found some kingsfoil for you, sir!"

A breath of relief escaped from his lips and he smiled faintly, standing again. "Excellent." The woman held out a handful of dark green leaves, small white flowers attached, and he took them graciously. "Much thanks, madam." She nodded, then peered curiously towards the bodies of Éowyn and Faramir as he began to cut apart the plant with a small knife, and grind it's pieces in a bowl.

"You can heal them, my lord?"

"I hope so."

"I don't know of anyone that's ever been able to heal the Nazgul's Death, my lord. Quite a healer, you must be."

"The Elves have taught me."

Her eyes widened. "The Elves, lord? Oy, that is quite a story!"

He smiled faintly in amusement. "I need peace now, please."

"Oh yes, yes of course.." She backed out the door again, tossing one last curious glance towards the bodies under Black Breath.

Aragorn prepared the brew of _athelas_, dropping the crushed leaves into a steaming bowl of water, and then soaking cloths in it. He knelt beside Éowyn now, and gently pressed the wet cloth to the woman's forehead, letting the warm brew of the_ athelas_ drip down her face. He held the bowl a moment beneath the woman's nose and mouth as well, hoping she would breathe in some of the sweet-smelling steam. The golden-haired young woman's eyes twitched, and she turned her head as her lips moved the slightest bit. Aragorn allowed a soft sigh of relief to escape, and murmured a few helpful words in Elvish, then re-soaked and pressed the cloth.

"Éowyn?" He murmured. "Éowyn you must come back to us. Come back to your brother, and me. Come, Éowyn."

"Please, gods.." Aragorn looked up in surprise at Éomer's deep voice so near, and saw the man had silently appeared beside his sister as well, and was watching her still face intently, dark eyes wide and pleading.

The intense fear and pain in the strong man's gaze was unnerving, and Aragorn quickly turned his full attention back to the young woman. He murmured another batch of soft Elven chants, and pressed the _athelas_-soaked cloth to her forehead again. Finally her breaths deepened, her chest rising and falling steadily, and her round blue eyes fluttered open. Her gaze found Aragorn first, and she held him in her sight for a long, disbelieving moment. He smiled softly and her gaze switched to Éomer, who breathed a heavy sigh of relief at her movement.

"Éowyn." He breathed, and leaned forward, touching her pale face, a wavering smile on his face.

She returned her own weak smile, and then Aragorn regained her attention. "You may sleep again, but it will be a restful sleep now. I must tend to another, and then we will have your arm slung and healed." She nodded weakly, too tired and frail to properly reply, and the Ranger moved away.

Éomer was still at her side though, and continued to watch carefully over her, the wisps of a faint smile on his rugged face. "You frightened me. I was sure when I found you, that you were dead."

She did not reply, her eyes merely drifted away and she seemed suddenly worried. "U..Uncle?" She finally asked, voice soft.

Éomer's dark brows fell back in sadness. "He fell." The news did not seem to surprise the Lady, she only sighed and closed her eyes for a moment.

_"A-Aragorn....No!"_

Both Éomer and Éowyn started in surprise at the weak, raspy voice, and turned to look behind the crouching Horse-lord, at the wounded woman that lay there. Alandria's skin was still flushed, but now her eyes flicked around randomly behind closed lids, and her head jerked sharply. Éomer moved from his place at his sister's side, to Alandria's, staring down at her in concern.

"Éomer?" Aragorn called. "What's happening? I heard my name. Is Alandria awake?"

"No, no she's...dreaming, I think." His brow furrowed further as the unconscious woman's lips twitched in silent words. He glanced across the room desperately. "Are you sure it's not the Black Breath?"

"I am sure. She came in no contact with any of the Nazgul. Her body has forced her into sleep, and the exhaustion she pushed herself to, combined with the blood loss and battlefield-horror, has deepened her sleep and apparently filled it with nightmares." The man already appeared tired, sighing. "Now she has to get herself out of it."

He turned back to trying to help the young Steward's son, who's sickness from the Black Breath was worse than Éowyn's had been. Éomer turned back to Alandria worriedly, but her movements had ceased, and her breathing was deep again. He muttered incoherently, and instinctively dipped the cloth nearby in the bowl of cool water, running it gently over her sweaty face.

"What happened to her?" Éowyn's voice was soft, and still weak, but she had turned her head to watch her brother gently take care of her unconscious friend.

"She collapsed. She stumbled over to us on the battlefield, and then just..collapsed." He paused, glancing up at his pale sister. "She had an arrow in her thigh. And a check showed her ribs are cracked too." He sighed heavily, abandoning the water and cloth for the still-warm drink Aragorn had given him. "Now she is feverish, and we have only to hope." Éowyn nodded slightly, studying her friend's still face and then her brother's concentrated features, before turning the other way, to look at Aragorn. He was bent over a sickly red-haired man, and seemed oblivious to all else.

"Come, young Faramir. Your King calls you.." Aragorn murmured more soft Elvish words, and held the steaming bowl of _athelas_ beneath the young man's nose again. He breathed it in a few times, and then his breaths came more steadily and natural.

Faramir moved slightly, his eyes fluttering weakly open, and a faint whisper escaped him. "Father?"

"Shh, young lord." Aragorn soothed. "Rest now, without dark dreams." The young man's tired blue eyes stared at Aragorn for a long, uncomfortable moment, then he nodded faintly and his lids fell closed once more.

* * *

"Éomer?" The gold-haired Horse-lord looked up tiredly from where he sat as his name was called, and saw Aragorn standing in the doorway to the small room. "You're still in here?" The Ranger entered, padding silently to the bed the younger man sat so urgently beside. "It has to have been at least five or six hours since I last checked on you. Have you had any rest?"

"I do not need it." Éomer lied simply, turning to stare again at the body on the bed before him.

Aragorn sympathized, seeing the deep care and concern the weary man gazed at the sleeping Alandria with. "Éomer, she will not heal any slower if you leave her side for a couple hours to rest. You as well need to keep your strength up."

"I'm fine, Aragorn." Éomer smoothly refused, and then sighed, touching the woman's hand. "She still burns. The fever is not any less."

"Give it time."

"How much time?" The young lord looked up at the Ranger, wide, dark eyes continually filled with worry.

"As much time as she needs, Éomer."

"But you know better than I do that we haven't forever. Sauron still must be challenged. And what then?"

"Then, I cannot say. We must wait until the time comes." He rested his hand on Éomer's shoulder as the younger man turned back to Alandria. "She will live, Éomer. She will."

The man did not answer for a long moment, merely gently held one of Alandria's burning hands in both of his. He sighed softly then, and spoke in a rough whisper. "And you can be certain of this?"

"I can be certain of nothing, my friend, but that does not mean I despair. You should not either."

"It is just..so hard, not to." The man's thick voice was choked with his emotion. "My cousin is dead. My uncle is dead. My parents died years ago. Now only Éowyn and I are left. And we cannot even be sure that Alandria.... We cannot even know if all our efforts are not in vain. Who is to know your little hobbits are even still alive? Or if Sauron yet has the Ring? Who is to say all of this will not fail?"

Aragorn was silent, contemplating his answer before he spoke. He did not answer right away, instead he went to the low wooden stand on the other side of the bed, and picked up the bowl of water and cloth from it, then handed them to Éomer. The lord took them but did nothing, watching the Ranger, until he realized Aragorn would do nothing until he obeyed. With a sigh, he began to clean away the fresh feverish sweat from Alandria's flushed face. Only when he had done this for several long moments did the other man speak.

"As I said, I can be certain of nothing. Neither can anyone else. But we can hope, and do our best to give Frodo and Sam what chance we may. True, it may be in vain in the end, but would you have us do nothing instead?" He paused, waiting for an answer. "Éomer?"

"No." The man answered shortly, sighing and ceasing his actions, then drawing a hand over his tired face. "I am sorry for my fears and doubts. I know better. And yet..." He paused, dropping his hand and staring at Alandria's body with desperate, pleading hazel eyes. The guilt that had weighed on him for the past hours became heavier.

"What is it, Éomer?"

"It's my fault." The Horse-lord whispered roughly.

Aragorn's brow furrowed, not sure he'd heard right. "Pardon?"

"It's all my fault." Éomer repeated, resting his head into his hands, propped up on his knees. "It's my fault she's here, like this." His thick voice was muffled, but Aragorn could discern the - confusing - words.

"How can it be your fault, Éomer? You couldn't have saved her from the orcs in that bat-"

"_I knew she was there._" The golden-haired man growled into his hands. "Before the battle even started. When we stopped for our first rest - I saw her. Damnit, I _talked_ to her. I made her ride with my éored." He dropped his hands again, gazing dejectedly down at the woman's still body. "Hell, I practically gave her Elrendyn's old blade; I might as well of just tied her to my horse and drug her along!"

Aragorn watched the man's eyes darken in anger, his body tense with agitation. "Éomer," he started soothingly, "It's not your fault. She would have found a way to come anyway."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean I should have encouraged her, does it? And now because of me, she's...now she's...she-" The man broke off, his voice choked with fear and guilt.

"You are tired, my friend." Aragorn softly comforted. "She will live, you know this. You should sleep. I can have someone else watch over her."

"No, it is alright."

"Éomer.."

"Just a little while longer, Aragorn, please. Then I will sleep."

The dark-haired man hesitated, but knew further arguing would be useless. "Fine." He agreed. "But be sure to rest."

Éomer nodded absently as the other man began to walk away, but then called out and stopped him. "Wait - would you mind bringing me more of that warm drink from earlier, that herbal thing you had me give to her? It should help, yes?"

Aragorn paused in the doorway, glancing from Alandria's unconscious body to the tired features of the Rohan Lord, and then nodded. "Yes, it should. Wise thought, Éomer." He smiled reassuringly at the younger man. "I shall bring you some in a moment."

Éomer nodded, and turned back to his charge as the Ranger disappeared. Her breathing was still deep, her skin flushed and hot, and still she sweated. He cleaned her forehead with the cool, wet cloth again, and bit his lip nervously, glancing up and out the window above the bed. There was the palest shine of light coming through it, but the rest of the room was lit by torches. The edge of dawn, it seemed. Which meant that it had been, as Aragorn had said, at least six hours since they moved her in to this lone room, and another six since she was laid beside Éowyn in the main room of the House of Healing. So then it was near twelve long hours she had been unconscious, perhaps more. Not once had she woken, nor had the fever slowed, and even Aragorn - brilliant healer as he was - seemed unable to change anything.

"What keeps you sleeping, _déore_?*" He whispered softly, brushing his fingertips lightly down the side of her face. "I'm so sorry I let you get into this nightmare... Every second I'm more afraid for you...please, Alandria.." His soft words did not wake her, but her breath came sharply. His eyes widened in worry, and he watched fearfully as her body twitched again in the spasms of a dream.

"Éomer?" Aragorn was suddenly beside him, gentle features concerned. "She's dreaming again?"

Éomer didn't have to answer, as she was practically panting now, and her fingers tapped and curled and shook with surprising energy. Her head snapped to the left, and then she stilled, save for her eyes flicking around wildly behind her lids and continual heavy breathing.

_"Boromir?"_ She whispered, and her body shifted slightly.

Éomer felt weak, and an insensible wave of sadness washed over him. Twice now she had uttered names - one of the brilliant man beside him, the other her lost love. What did they mean? He glanced up desperately at Aragorn, but the Ranger could only grasp his shoulder in attempted comfort.

_"Please, Bor-"_ Her words ceased suddenly, as her lips pulled back in a grimace. Her head turned again, her hands flexed, and then she stilled back to her normal heavy breathing. Éomer leaned close to her, studying her features, which still held the remains of fear and a grimace, and gently stroked her dark hair.

"I'll let you be." Aragorn set down the steaming mug of herbs on the nearby stand, and quietly turned to leave. "Remember to get some rest, Éomer."

The Horse-lord nodded, his eyes never leaving Alandria's face, even though he knew now sleep would be impossible. Instead, he continued to gently stroke her hair, and touch her warm face, and murmur quiet words that he knew she could not hear.

* * *

It was nearly a full day later, and still Alandria had not changed. Now and then she would tremble and twitch with dreams, but no more words or names escaped her lips. Éomer stayed at her side, having ignored Aragorn's many pleadings for him to rest. He couldn't rest - who knew when she might wake? Instead he continually watched over her, paying attention to little else, eating and drinking only when he was reminded to. He thought nothing of his odd actions, for no one dared call him on them. Until a visitor other than Aragorn and the random maids that had bothered him so, appeared.

His head was just starting to fall into his hand, the elbow of which was rested on the bed beside Alandria, when he heard the footsteps. He snapped to attention, clearing the fog of drowsiness from his mind. A glance behind himself showed his sister, and he had not even the strength left to be surprised to see her about. "Shouldn't you be resting?" He mumbled instead.

"Shouldn't you?" She retorted, and he didn't bother arguing with her. She stepped closer, beside him, and gazed down at her unconscious friend in concern. "She still hasn't woken?"

"No."

She glanced at her brother. "And you still haven't rested?" Again he didn't answer, just continued to stare at Alandria, and Éowyn sighed. "Éomer, please, sleep at least for a couple hours. I will watch her."

"I'm fine, Éowyn. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Because I've slept three different times in the past day and night. You have not."

"Is your arm alright?"

"Do not try to distract me, brother. Please, I beg you, get some rest!" She walked to the other side of the bed, so she could see straight to his face. "Look at me, Éomer." Reluctantly, he raised his head. His dark hazel eyes were bloodshot, and his brow held too many weary lines. "You do no one any good torturing yourself so. You haven't slept since the battle, and she hasn't woken since it either. I can assure you that nothing will change in a couple short hours." He didn't answer, just glanced down uneasily at Alandria. "Please, Éomer. Just a short rest."

"You will watch her?"

"Yes."

"And wake me if she wakes as well?"

"Immediately, yes."

"You promise?"

"Éomer."

He sighed heavily, and slowly stood. "Alright, alright. I'm only worried about her."

Éowyn pale features softened slightly, understanding well. "I know, Éomer. But you must take care of yourself as well." He drew his hand tiredly over his face again, hesitating to leave. "Do you want to sleep in here?" His sister offered. "We could get a simple bed made up for you."

Relief flooded the strong man's features, and he sighed happily. "Gods yes, that would be wonderful."

Éowyn smiled softly. "I thought so. It is settled then - I will get a servant to set you out some blankets, and you will sleep for a few hours. And I promise I will wake you immediately if Alandria should wake too."

"Thank you, Éowyn." Her brother murmured, deep voice low and soft. "I am sorry I'm..so difficult."

She merely smiled in reply. "Since when aren't you?" He smiled faintly, and she started towards the door. "I will get a servant to set your bed. I hope you know you shall be sleeping on the floor."

The tired man shrugged, glancing over at Alandria again. "Does not matter." Éowyn glanced at Alandria as well, nodded, and went to retrieve some help.

* * *

*_although its probably pretty clear, for any that are wondering, "deore" is "dear" in Old English, which I'm using because Tolkien based most of the Rohirric language off OE_


	23. Right Here

******I hope those of you reading enjoy this chapter, as I'm rather interested to hear what some of you think. I'm suuuper busy with school right now, and had to force myself to take sometime to put this up. Luckily, school's out for the summer in exactly two weeks! :) So updates should hopefully come a bit quicker.**

**Cheers**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

_Eomer's POV_

Éomer started suddenly awake, seized with a panicked thought that something was wrong. But silence answered his movements, and the room was still. He looked around, unsure what had awoken him so suddenly, and then saw the low bed he lay but a yard from. He rolled over, wincing and grunting at the stiffness and bruises resulting from the battle at Pelennor, and then rose to his feet. Alandria still lay there - unmoved, unchanged, and unhealed. His heart throbbed to see her so, and to know he could do nothing but wait and watch. He moved to the stool that rested beside the bed and sat quietly upon it, his dark eyes never leaving her beautiful face. Her closed eyes twitched and moved slowly, dreaming again, and yet the rest of her body seemed incredibly relaxed, at ease. Tenderly he let his rough fingers carress the side of her face again, and then glanced around for the bowl and cloth to cool her down.

His sister appeared then in the doorway, and stopped short upon seeing him awake. "Oh, Éomer.." She murmured softly, and then slowly entered. "I only just left her, and only for a moment. I'm sorry, but she hadn't woken-"

"It's fine, Éowyn." He assured her gently, focused on Alandria.

"I am sorry though. I had promised-"

But Éomer was shaking his head, unconcerned. "It is fine. I'm awake now anyway." He finally glanced up at his sister. "How long did I sleep?"

"Just over three hours, I believe. It's only the edge of seven o'clock in the morning."

He nodded, before suddenly yawning hugely. He caught Éowyn's smile, and flushed slightly. "I feel better."

"Good. You needed rest." He didn't answer, and she looked down at her friend's still-sleeping form, then back towards the door to the room. "I will leave you, if you do not mind."

"No, do as you wish."

She nodded, already leaving. "Let me know if she wakes."

Éomer nodded as his sister vanished, and then sighed, before yawning again. "Come on, Alandria." He whispered softly to her, watching her continued dreaming. "Please...come..." Her head turned slightly, almost in a response, he imagined, and then she uttered a soft whimper that cut into him. He watched her intently, wishing with all his might he could wake her himself, but left only to wait. Her breathing was slightly faster again, and her right hand flexed, twisted, and then clenched.

_"Eomer?"_

His name broke past her lips, and the sweet sound of it stabbed into him. She whispered it just so that he could have sworn she was awake, had he not been watching her features carefully. "Alandria?" He breathed, leaning closer in desperation and taking her too-warm hand up in his. "Please, wake up...just wake up...come on..." She shifted. "Please, Alandria, come back.." The hand that had been clenched suddenly opened, and laid flat beside her on the bed. Her breathing slowed, her eyes stopped moving, and her tense muscles slacked. Éomer still held her hand, watching intently and praying desperately, until - to his disbelief - her dark lashes moved, and then slowly parted, revealing the dark green eyes he'd been waiting to see.

* * *

_The light was bright and dazzling, clearly illuminating the field below her. The field was ugly: grey and brown, littered with dry, dead trees. A mass of flashing, glinting silver caught her attention. Shapes could hardly be seen in the mass, save for glimpses of a white banner, or the curve of a helm. They were too close together to be clearly seen, and moved across the bare field as a single entity. Different movement caught her attention then: a different mass, a swarm of deep black, gliding swiftly towards the silver. And then before she could discern what was happening, the black overtook silver like a wave overtakes a single stone - extinguishing the flashes of reflected sunlight easily and quickly, drowning it all. Faint cries reached her ears, but whether they were cries of victory or of pain, she could not tell. Then lightning seemed to strike down from the dark sky, and split the middle of the black sea of bodies. A sharp crack sounded in her ears and she flinched, closing her eyes against the shock. When she opened her eyes again, both masses of silver and black were gone, and in their place was a giant crack in the ugly earth. Curiosity sparked within her, and she ran quickly down from her hillside, towards the opening. Nearer, she saw it was much larger than it had appeared at her distance. Perhaps forty feet wide, and four times as long. She slowed, coming closer, and then finally stopped and peered cautiously into the large hole. It was dark inside it, and unfathomably deep._

_A noise came from behind her and she whirled in alarm, only to see a familiar form at her side. Aragorn stood near the edge as well, looking himself into the chasm. She desperately wanted to ask him where the gap had come from, and where the silver and black had gone, and what was happening - but she could not find her voice. He seemed to be ignoring her anyway, walking back and forth along the length of the split. He sighed, muttered some silent words, and then casually strode back towards her. His gentle blue-green eyes finally raised to her face and he seemed surprised, then quickly concerned. He opened his mouth to speak, and then suddenly fell forward, as if his feet were pulled out from under him. Indeed that was what had happened, as she saw in horror a pale, decaying hand held tightly to his ankle. She lunged forward but he waved her away, shaking his head, and then scrabbling at the dry ground for a hold. The hand holding the Ranger's foot extended from the deep chasm, and out of it crawled another mangled body. It's pale skin was rotting, it's eyes clouded white, and it's bones stuck out crudely in the skin. It was hideous, corpse-like but moving, and it grasped the man's other leg, pulling as well. _"Aragorn.."_ She called out to him, and rushed forward again, this time grabbing his arm and trying to pull him towards her. But two more corpses appeared from the black hole, and each grabbed ahold of the stuggling man, then pulled him further away. _"No!"_ She cried, just as his fingertips slipped past the ledge of rock. And he was gone. She stared down at the silent, black hole for a long moment, horrified by what had just happened. He was dead then, Aragorn? Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur, and the greatest ally she could have ever made? Dead. _

_She stumbled blindly away, shaking her head and muttering soft denials. Everywhere around her the land still laid silent, and barren. As if death lived there. To further prove her thoughts, she suddenly tripped over something. She landed on her hands and knees in the grey-brown dust, coughing as some of it kicked up into her face. She peered over her shoulder then, and cried out in horror, scrambling away. More dust kicked up and caused her to cough, as she stumbled to her feet crazily. Once the dry dust cleared and coughing ceased, she carefully looked over at what she'd just seen. Another body. And then she noticed three more laying nearby. Little bodies, the size of children maybe. Each with curly hair and bare feet. Her throat choked up again, and not because of dust. She wanted to vomit, she felt she was going to, but it wasn't happening. Just the feeling remained, but the action would not come. The bodies were on their backs or sides, all positioned so she could see their faces - but she didn't need too. She knew who they were. And seeing the deathly pale color on their skin, their stillness, and - after a terrified glance - the blank, glassy stare on them, it was too much to bear. She choked again on the vomit that would not come, and stumbled earnestly away. Luck was not with her however, and her foot caught on something again, and sent her toppling over backwards to the ground._

_But water was beneath her: deep, freezing, moving water. She sunk down as the cold grasped her lungs, squeezing out whatever air she had, and her body was slammed against rocks. She clawed at the dark water, and finally found the energy to kick her legs. She burst free of the depths of the water into cold air, and took a huge breath of it before being slammed into another stone. She coughed, groaned, and then was spun away by the strong current. She was in a river, a cold, dark river that moved too fast for her to possibly survive it. Her arms moved, her legs kicked, but little help did they seem to provide. She was nearly forced under again, and flailed helplessly at the water about her, hoping to grab ahold of something that could stable her. Her hand slammed against rocks, and scraped against sticks, but could find hold on nothing. Something passed her sight then - something pale, and above her level in the water. She reached out to it, and her hand contacted with wood. But not the rough, wet wood of a stick in the river; smooth, crafted wood. She forced her numbing fingers to curl and hold to the edge of the wood, and she clenched her teeth before pulling herself closer to the object with what strength she had left. Her other arm flew out to reach at the wood as well, and she was surprised to feel it go over the edge of something. She held tight, pulling herself up a little more, and then realized what she held to: the side of a boat. A silvery-white, elegant boat - with a body inside it. Her breathing stalled as she realized what she looked at. Who she looked at. _"Boromir?"_ She breathed, suddenly starting to shake from the cold. He wasn't laying in the boat, and he wasn't dead. He sat in the center of it, surprisingly calm, and he was clearly alive. He turned and looked at her, and she stung with longing and how much she'd missed his strong, handsome features. She held out her hand, expecting him to see her position and save her from the nightmarish river. But he did no such thing. Instead his pale eyes saddened, and he shook his head. "Sorry, lass." He murmured, and she revelled in the rich voice she had missed so much. He turned then, and looked towards the direction the boat was heading. She struggled to look too, and saw a foam of white, followed by nothing else. There was a thunderous roar with it all, and she knew it was a water fall. Fear struck deep in her, and she turned back to the man in the boat desperately. _"Please, Bor-"_ "You've got to let go, love." He interrupted, and leaned forward to take her hands in his. She let him, foolishly trusting, and he pried her hands off the side of the boat, holding them for a moment. "That's right, lass. Just let go." And then he released her hands, and she fell back into the deep water. Her cry of despair was lost in the roar of the water, and she tumbled head over heels down the falls._

_She hit the ground hard, and the air was knocked sharply out of her. The water was gone, and she rolled painfully over to find she was on grass. Rich, green grass. Slowly she sat up, and looked around cautiously. She was in a huge field, filled with short green grass and spattered with blades of long gold. The sun was bright and warm overhead, and all was quiet, peaceful. The air was still and comfortable, and smelled like the fresh grass around her. It was an unexpected Heaven, after the previous Hells, and she welcomed it. Something moved in the golden distance then, and she watched it curiously, waiting patiently for it to come closer. And it did come, with the steady sound of a single horse's hoofbeats. The horse was tall, and broad, a dark dapple-grey stallion it seemed, and it cantered smoothly towards her. It slowed to a trot upon approach, and she squinted and blinked as it came to stand beside her, forcing her to look up towards the sun that shone behind it. The sunlight blinded her to the horse's rider, and she only glimpsed bronze and leather before the horse moved, allowing her to see it clearly out of the bright light. The horse was tall and and beautiful, powerfully built yet he carried himself elegantly. The rider wore a silver and bronze helm with a top of flaxen horse-hair, and his face was hidden. "Come," The man spoke in a deep, thick voice, and held out his hand. She hesitated and he seemed to understand, and removed his helm. Some part of her seemed to have known who she would see upon the great steed, but she had wanted to clearly see nonetheless. Éomer sat proudly, tall and broad shouldered, his dark-gold hair lighter in the sunlight, his handsome features calm, his dark eyes warm as the sun that shone down on them. He held out his hand again, and smiled softly. "Come, you will be safe." She was eager to join him and stepped forward, only to find something weighed her down, and to see the Rider pull back from her, his handsome features guarded. She looked down at herself, not understanding, and then saw in her arms a great, round shield of smooth red-brown wood and polished silver. It was a shield that belonged a Captain-General of Gondor, not her. But it was all she felt she had left, and she did not want to let it go. She looked back up at the golden-haired Horse-lord, her green eyes pleading. _"Éomer?" _She whispered, and he knew what she was asking, only to shake his head in reply. "It must be left behind. It will be too much of a burden." Still she hesitated, her hands carressing the warm wood. "I can keep you safe, Alandria. You do not need that." Éomer's voice was gentle, and she glanced up at him again, only to see sadness and worry on his handsome features. She did not want to be the cause of his sadness, and knew also that what he said was true. "Please, Alandria, come back." Reluctantly and slowly, she set down the great shield. Her hand lingered on two breaks in the wood where the arrows of Orcs had punctured it, then she forced herself to reach up. Her hand met a larger, stronger hand, and she was pulled easily towards a strong body-_

* * *

Alandria's POV

The field and grass and horse and man disappeared, as Alandria was thrown back forcefully to reality. Her eyelids seemed heavy, and slowly she blinked away her dillusions, revealling the faintly lit, single room where she dwelt. She vaguely noticed a wide window which the light fell through, and a lowly lit fireplace across the room, but her attention was quickly drawn to her right. She gazed into wide, dark-hazel eyes; so wide the edges of white could be seen around them and combined with the way his dark brows were drawn up and together, he appeared both terrified and concerned. But they caused a soft blanket of comfort to fall over her, as she took in the face that held them. It seemed the golden-haired man from her dreaming had not wholly disappeared.

"Alandria?" He whispered, thick voice barely a breath. He was bent over her, and his hand raised to lightly touch the side of her face.

"Éomer." She sighed in reply, and his handsome face broke into a bright, warm smile. "Is it truly you now, or do I still dream?"

"No, no you do not dream anymore. I am here, right here beside you." He warm touch shifted, moving from her face to gently grasp her right hand. "Right here." He whispered and she glanced around the unfamiliar room again.

"Where is 'here'?"

"The Houses of Healing, in Minas Tirith. You've been here for two nights and day." He paused, and she looked at him again, to find his features somber, dark eyes sad. "We were afraid you wouldn't make it."

"I didn't think I did." She replied, closing her eyes briefly. "My dreams..they were all so real, and all so terrible..." Her eyes flew open again, wide and frightened. "What happened, my lord? At the battle? I can't..can't remember...and my thoughts are meddled with...what happened?"

"Shh, Alandria, it is alright." He held her hand tighter for a moment, trying to reassure her. "We won. Sauron's armies lost, and we claim the victory."

"Victory? But I saw the size of Sauron's forces, there is no way we-"

"But we did. Aragorn triumphed in the Paths of the Dead, and the Dead aided us. Against them, no army could have won. And we have victory."

She seemed unable to believe his words, and said nothing for a long moment, staring silently at the stone walls around them. She cleared her throat then, to speak again. "Losses?" She asked softly. "What losses did we suffer?" Éomer paused, reluctant to bear to her the fall of his uncle. Surely she did not need the death of another loved one to bear? But she caught his hesitation, and weakly squeezed his hand, whispering, "Please, Éomer."

He could not refuse her. "My uncle." He answered quietly, dark eyes falling for a moment to their clasped hands. He heard her intake of breath, and then the slow release of her sigh.

"Théoden.." She murmured, and sighed again. "The white horse, it was Snowmane?"

"White horse?" Éomer's brow furrowed, and he worried she was confusing reality with her dreams.

"Where you found Éowyn, there was a white horse. Théoden's mount?"

"Snowmane, yes, that was him."

"Théoden is dead then." She closed her eyes for a moment, and a shaky breath eased through her lips. "No victory without sacrifice, I suppose." Éomer nodded and weakly smiled in an attempt of comfort, but suddenly her green eyes widened again. "Éowyn? Was she dead then? What-"

"No, Alandria." Éomer was quick to assure her. "No, Éowyn lives. Aragorn took care of her. He said she was cursed with the Black Breath, a poison of the Nazgul. But she lives, and is healing."

"Where?"

"In her own room. Calm yourself, Alandria. Everything is alright, and you must not tire yourself. Still your strength is too little."

"I'm fine, my lord."

He looked doubtful. "Your wounds do not hurt?" She though for a moment, moved slightly, and winced. "Which ones?"

"My leg." She breathed. "It burns..and aches.."

"It is the arrow wound. It is healing, but slowly. And your ribs?"

Again she seemed to think about it for a moment. "They ache when I breathe."

He nodded. "They were cracked, and will be for a little while. But Aragorn is the best healer I've seen yet - you will be well soon." He smiled gently and squeezed her hand again.

"Aragorn...can I see him? And Legolas, and Gimli! They survived, yes?"

"Yes, they did, but-"

Alandria's eyes widened as she recalled who else should be there. "Merry - please tell me M-Merry lived?"

"Yes, he was wounded, but is alive-"

"What about..Pippin, and..and Gandalf? I'm sure Gandalf can...can..manage for himself, but little P-Pippin..." Her words had begun to trail off, as she tried to ignore the mist in her sight.

"They are _fine_, Alandria." She started in surprise at the firm tone the Horse-lord's thick voice took. His voice was commanding, but his eyes were warm. "All fine. You are the one to worry about. You need rest, as I'm sure I'll get an ear-ful from Aragorn if I waste your strength with talking." He smiled slightly and flushed. "We will have time, and you can see your friends. But now you need to sleep."

"But Éomer, please-"

"No Alandria. Please, do not fight me." His eyes softened more, his features seeming sad, and Alandria felt herself sadden with him. "I could not bear to see you hurt so, and now I _will_ not bear you to lose your little strength because of me. Please, just sleep. You need the rest. Please."

She hesitated, instinct telling her to argue again, but sense winning over. She nodded, and suddenly felt the weakness he had spoken of overcome her. Her eyelids could barely stay open, and if she had not been already laying down, she knew she surely would have fallen. "I am tired..." She whispered.

The gold-haired Lord smiled softly. "I know." He murmured in reply. "Get some rest, and I will tell Aragorn you have awoken." He moved to rise, but was stopped as the hand he still held tightened, and another clasped his forearm. He looked down in alarm at Alandria.

"Don't. Please, don't..don't go..." Her words were barely whispers as she fell again into unconsciousness, and her hands went slack. But Éomer obeyed, sitting comfortably again, and raising her hand to his lips.

"Alright, love. I'm not going anywhere. Right here. I'm right here."


	24. We Will Meet Again

******Woot, I am out of school for the summer! :) Already busy though :/ Anyway, I did have the time to give you all this chapter. It's long, but goes by quickly(or so I think; just a lot of dialogue). As always, Read and Review, please :) Oh, and I'm really, really excited for the next chapter. It'll be long - that much I know because I'm nearly done with it already, other than some revising - but I'm really excited. It'll have Faramir finally making an appearance, which is my cause for excitement: he is my absolute favourite in the trilogy(why I haven't written a fic on him, I'm not entirely sure..) and I love anything involving him, lol. So I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I think I'll have the next one up by the 10th - my birthday :)**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

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It was shortly after that Aragorn appeared over Éomer's shoulder, and easily read the good news from the golden-haired man's eager features. He was given a briefing of Alandria's time awake, and then contented himself with checking her fever - it was a little less - and making sure fresh athelas was applied to her wounds. For the time being, that was all he could do.

Her eyes opened for the second time, a little over two hours later. The room was lit brightly by the sunlight falling through the wide window, and she could hear soft murmurs of movement coming from the door. The movement at her side though was what interested her. Éomer sat there again, or still, and smiled warmly when she woke. She returned it, comforted by his presence. "You're still here?" She asked softly.

"I had to leave for a little while, but yes, I'm here again." His thick voice soothed her, and she sighed, closing her eyes again. "Are you alright?" She heard him shift, and opened her eyes upon feeling his rough palm lightly cradle her cheek. His dark brows were furrowed in concern, making her smile slightly.

"I'm fine." She replied. "Still just a little tired. And sore."

"I'll get Aragorn-"

"No, don't worry about it right now. I'm just not used to having a lame leg and aching ribs." She tried to joke, but the man at her side was oddly serious. Her smile fell then, as did the thoughts of any injury she had, and she studied the Horse-lord's firm features carefully. His jaw was tight, his brows low, and his dark hazel eyes swam with worry and sadness. "Éomer?" She said softly, and watched as his features relaxed slightly.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Of course."

She paused, watching him again. "You're lying. Éomer, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Alandria. It'll be alright."

"What? What will be alright?" She was worried now, seeing him lean away as he realized his slip-of-tongue. "Éomer, what's going on?"

"What makes you think something is happening, Alandria?"

"You don't look right." She stated simply. "You're worried..and sad..."

"Shouldn't I be? You and my sister are hurt, my uncle dead...should I not be worried and sad?" Not the right answer. Alandria pushed away the hand that reached for hers, and then slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing slightly. "Alandria? What are you- lay down, don't-"

"Oh, stop it!" She snapped, brushing away his helping hands, and then sighing as she sat up properly. She glared at Éomer now, studying him again. "What are you worried about, Éomer?"

He stared back at her for a moment, further worry clouding his handsome features at her sudden actions, and then he sighed. "I don't want to trouble you with it."

"With what?" Her voice suddenly softened, hoping to coaxe out his words.

"I do not want to say right now, Alandria. Not to offend or anger you, but only because I need to talk to Aragorn again."

"Éomer, please. You're scaring me."

He shook his head, sighing. "Not right now."

"Éo-"

"_Not right now_, Alandria." He let anger and authority slip into his words, silencing her easily.

She paused, watching him worriedly, before whispering, "Then what? Then what right now?"

The irritation that had taken him quickly dissolved, as he beheld Alandria's frightened emerald gaze. His own dark eyes softened, and he moved closer to her bedside. He held out his hand, fearing rejection, but Alandria put him to rest as she immediately set her own smaller hand in his warm palm. He pulled gently and she understood, shifting to move closer to him as he moved to sit on the side of her bed. His hand let go of her's, to wrap his arm around her back and hold her closer to him. Alandria was unsure for a moment, then quickly banished her unease to take comfort in his warm, strong hold. One thing still bothered her however, and she remained silent to contemplate what it was. Éomer sighed after a moment, his hot breath blowing down on her hair, and then she realized what was wrong - she was leaning against the hard surface of the Rider's breast-plate, not the softness of a tunic. She could not feel the warmth of his body through the metal and leather, nor hear the beating of his heart, or feel the rise and falls of his breaths. He was in his armor, and that knowledge gnawed at her worry.

"Alandria?" Both persons on the bed looked up at the voice, and the lady who strode forward as quickly as she safely could. "You're awake!"

"Éowyn, be careful-" Éomer started, but the Lady ignored him with a sweep of her free hand.

"Oh shush, Éomer. I can walk across a room."

"Éowyn." Alandria smiled warmly, interrupting Éomer's comeback, and he let her go in defeat, moving a short distance away.

The White Lady of Rohan hurried across the small room, and immediately sat in the chair beside the bed, her wide blue eyes excited. "Do you feel better?"

"Much, thank you. I needed the rest. And you?" She glanced at the sling her Lady's arm was in with concern. "Your arm?"

"Healing, do not worry. How long have you been awake?"

"Not long, but once before now-"

"You've been awake before?" The woman glanced sharply at her brother. "How come you didn't tell me?"

"She needed her rest." He answered feebly, but she dismissed him.

"It's so good to see you awake Alandria, you have no idea how worried we've been!"

Alandria flushed slightly, looking guilty. "I'm sorry my lady. I don't-"

"No, no, don't be sorry. Why should you ever be sorry? It is not like it was your fault, yes? I am just glad you are alive." The Lady touched her friend's arm with her free hand gently, and smiled as warmly as she could manage. "Éo-" She stopped short, realizing the man was gone, and then glanced out the door, where his figure was quickly disappearing. She turned back to Alandria, who's dark green eyes were studying the abandoning figure.

It took Alandria a moment to realize Éowyn wasn't speaking anymore, and when she did she blinked a couple times, then hastily turned back to her Lady. "Sorry my lady - you were saying? About your brother?" Éowyn remained silent for a moment, watching her friend with sympathetic eyes. "...My lady?" Alandria asked carefully, unnerved by both she and her brother's odd attitudes.

"Did he tell you how long you've been asleep, Alandria?"

"Two nights and a day. So I'd say around...thirty six hours or so, yes?"

"Close to it, I'm sure."

Éowyn seemed hesitant, glancing at the empty doorway, and Alandria had to encourage her again. "What, my lady?"

"My brother didn't once leave your side Alandria, in all that time. He wouldn't have slept had I not forced him too, just this morning, and only for a few hours. He slept in here even then. He hardly ate either, unless he was reminded to." Éowyn's dark blue eyes were serious, holding Alandria's gaze intensely. "He was terrified that you would wake up when he wasn't there, or, worse yet, you wouldn't wake up at all."

"Why are you telling me this, Éowyn?" Alandria asked cautiously, more unnerved by the second and using confusion to mask her surprise at what the Lady was telling her.

Éowyn's eyes softened again, and she gazed desperately into Alandria's weary face. "Do you not understand?"

"I don't.." Alandria glanced quickly at the still-empty doorway. "I don't know what you mean by it. He was only worried. Your brother is a good man like that - it is not surprising."

"Yes it is, Alandria." The Lady argued softly. "And you are lucky to have him."

"Have him? Éowyn I have nothing, certainly not him."

"But you do Alandria! You have his worry, and care, and concern."

"Do I not have the worry and care and concern of you as well? And Aragorn? Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf - any of them?"

"Alandria, it's not the s-"

But they were interrupted, as the sound of hurried footsteps travelled through the doorway. Both women turned, just as two small figures dashed into the room. One leapt easily on to the bed beside Alandria and took her hands excitedly, an impish smile lighting up his entire face. The other stood nearby, one arm bandaged but otherwise just as enthusiastic as his friend.

"Pippin?" Alandria exlaimed, laughing at the little hobbit beside her. "Merry?"

"You're finally awake!" Pippin cried. "We've been so worried, 'aven't we Merry?"

Merry nodded, smiling broadly but calming down quicker than the other. "Pip's right, milady. You've had all of us up with worry!"

"Not all of us, perhaps." A gentle voice floated from the doorway, and Alandria looked up to see Legolas smirking down at Gimli, who too had appeared.

"Ah shut it, Prince-ling. I've been just as worried for ye as all, Alandria, I assure ye."

Alandria laughed gently. "I have no doubt Gimli."

"Are you feeling better?" Legolas asked.

"Yes, much, thank you."

"Does your leg hurt?" Pippin inquired. "I heard you got hit with an arrow!"

"Yes, I did, and it hurts but I'll be alright. What about all of you?" She asked, glancing around the room. "Merry - what happened to your arm?"

The little hobbit glanced at Éowyn, then back at Alandria. "The Witch-King, my lady. The Lord of the Nazgul. I stabbed 'im, and somethin' happened to my arm. 'Tis alright now though."

Alandria's eyes were wide. "You fought the Witch-King?"

"Nay. Lady Éowyn did." He gestured towards the White Lady, but she shook her head at Alandria's alarmed glance.

"Later." She said softly, seeming suddenly sad, and Alandria obliged.

"I found 'im out there." Pippin piped up. "On the field. Took hours, but I found him - bloody and weak and scared me 'alf to death, he did. But Aragorn's wonderful and got him healed in no time!"

"Aragorn.." Alandria said softly. "Where is he?"

"Here." The soft voice of the Ranger answered her almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for her to ask. He stepped into the suddenly crowded room proudly, and Alandria was quick to notice the difference about him. He seemed taller, prouder, more confident. Kingly.

"I assume I have you to thank for my recovery." She smiled gently and he returned it, but shook his head.

"Not entirely, Alandria. I did what I could, but I had many patients to tend to. Your Lord Éomer was most helpful in your healing."

She then noticed Éomer as well, forced towards the back wall of the room. His already dark features were further darkened, and not by shadows. His eyes were focused intensely out the window, and he seemed both furiously angry and tremendously worried - and even faintly sad. He bothered her, and she quickly looked away, back to Aragorn's gentle - yet guarded - turquoise gaze. "I thank you nonetheless."

He smiled faintly. "I'm just glad you're awake, and well. You will heal quicker now." She nodded, and then he glanced around the room, before his gaze fell on Éomer. He seemed sad then too, and glanced down for a moment before moving towards the doorway. "Everyone, come. We...have things to prepare for, and Alandria needs room and rest."

"But Strider," Pippin protested. "We just got to see her. Can't we please stay a little longer, if we promise to be quiet? With the battl-"

"No." Éomer spoke now, and his thick voice was harsh, snapping everyone to attention.

Pippin glanced uneasily at the tall man, then back at Aragorn, who sighed softly, seeming sad again. "I know, my friends, but no you cannot. The rest of us need you right now. You will have a chance again."

Both Merry and Pippin looked doubtful, and Alandria was surprised to catch the glimpse of equal doubt pass on both Gimli and even Legolas' features. But each person filed dejectedly and obediently out, saying or faintly smiling their goodbyes as they left. Even Éowyn reluctantly got up and left, after a look from Aragorn. Soon it was only Alandria, Éomer and Aragorn left in the room, and after a long, silent look between the two men, the Ranger left as well.

The silence slammed down like an avalanche. It hung in the air thick and heavy, and Alandria itched to be rid of it. But a stubborn side of her refused to be the one to break it. Éomer seemed to be the cause of the sudden abandonment of her friends, so he was the cause of the silence, and he would be the one to end it. She waited. Impatiently, as he stared endlessly out the open window. The murmur of healers and nurses and the healing came easily through the doorway, but it seemed to fade in the heavy silence between the two people. Alandria shifted, her anger and frustration at Éomer fading to worry. Tension mixed with the silence. Finally, a deep, heavy, defeated sigh broke it.

Éomer drew his hand across his face, and his eyes fell to the floor, losing the startling emotions from earlier and now appearing only sad. He walked slowly across the still room, to her bedside. His slow, scuffing footsteps seemed alarmingly loud. He paused beside her, and she turned to stare at the cream colored sheets covering her legs, avoiding looking at him. He seemed to wait an eternity, and just when she felt about to break, he lowered himself to his knees beside the bed with agonizing slowness. Equally slowly, she turned to look at him. His hazel eyes were already gazing intensely at her, and then sunlight illuminated them just so to reveal green beneath their surface. The deep, beautiful, forest-green colors that swam beneath the surface of warm brown caught her off guard, and quickly weakened her defenses.

"Éomer?" She barely breathed his name, but it was clear and plenty loud in the heavy silence.

"I'm sorry." He replied, deep, thick voice sliding along the path of noise her word had already made.

"For what?" The fear and sadness and guilt she saw in his dark, beautiful gaze disturbed her.

He glanced down, but only for a moment. "I'm leaving. Today. We all are." She started to ask questions - leaving where? Why? She was coming too, right? But he shook his head, and she obeyed. "We've all discussed it - Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas and I - and we decided it was the best option. The _only_ option. It's the only way there's any chance. So we leave today - soon, actually. Nigh immediately. It will take a few days to get there, and then..." He stopped, his gaze dropping again as he sighed. "Then I don't know."

Alandria let the silence remain in the air for several seconds, studying the bowed features of the Horse-lord, his face partially hidden from her. "Where are you going?" She finally asked, and it was the question that would give her all the answers she needed.

"The Black Gate."

Éomer's voice was flat, and the words fell heavily through the air, landing with a slam in Alandria's mind. It suddenly all made sense to her - Éomer's worry, and anger, and sadness; Aragorn's sadness; Pippin being silenced when he began to speak about a battle; the armor Éomer wore. It made sense. And she didn't want it to.

"No."

Just the one word, it was all she could manage out. The only protest she could muster just then.

"I have no choice, Alandria."

"Of course you do." She argued, but her voice was soft, because she knew he was right. "You can stay here."

"I can't do that."

"But you can't go to the Black Gate. It's suicide."

"Perhaps not." She didn't reply - they both knew their armies could not have victory against Mordor. There were too few. "It is not for our victory, Alandria. It is for Frodo and Sam to have a chance. We are their last hope."

She shook her head, tears suddenly stinging her eyes. "You can't go."

"I must."

"You can't!"

His large, rough, warm hands tenderly held both of her's, and he gazed intently into her eyes, forcing her to look at him just with his own stare. "I would give anything not to leave you, Alandria, but I have no choice. I must go. You know this. Would you have me stay, knowing what it might cost in the end? Would you?"

"No." She whispered, her eyes falling from his, her words defeated.

"I am sorry, Alandria. I'm so sorry.." He reached up, and his right hand cradled the side of her face comfortingly.

"I want to be there with you." She said firmly, but he immediately shook his head.

"Don't. You know that can't happen."

"Why not? Who's to say I'm still so weak?" She brushed his hand away and suddenly, irrationally, turned and stepped up from the bed. She stood on both feet for barely a second, before a white-hot pain exploded in her right leg, and her left side ached sharply. Her leg gave out and she gasped, falling, but into a warm, strong hold.

"You fool.." The Horse-lord muttered, but gently rested her back on the bed and returned to his previous position. His bold features were tired now, tainted only faintly with sadness. "You are to stay here, Alandria. With Éowyn. Look after her, please. I know she won't like staying behind any more than you."

"You cannot leave me here to watch your sister!"

"Alandria.." He sighed heavily, and appeared even more weary.

"I'm sorry." She quickly apologized, realizing the sorrow she was causing him. Did she really think it was any easier for him to leave her? "I just don't want you to have to go... I don't want any of you to go.."

"I know, but we must. And soon." He glanced towards the doorway, then shifted. "Very soon. Would you like me to retrieve them all, so you can say your goodbyes? I do not know if you will have a chance other than now."

Alandria paused, surprised by how quickly things were moving, then nodded. "Please."

Éomer squeezed her hands gently, then stood and strode out the door. Alandria waited in the still, silent room, her eyes falling to the lit window and briefly wondering when she'd be able to walk over and look out it. Her leg burned again from her previous movement, and she felt extremely tired. It disgusted her, the helpless, weak feeling that she was currently plagued with. She couldn't stand. It hurt to even breathe. And now she was to be left behind in the city, while everyone she cared for - save the Lady Éowyn - rode into a hopeless battle. Ridiculous.

"Alandria?"

Her brooding was interrupted by a soft, hobbit-sounding voice, and she looked up to see Pippin's head peeking around the door. She smiled as best she could. "Hello Pippin."

He stepped in the room, and Merry appeared as well, following his friend to her bedside. They both seemed surprisingly serious. "So Éomer told you about where we're going?" Merry asked.

She nodded. "Yes." She paused, and the other two were silent. "Are you frightened?"

"Of course."

"I never liked any battles as it were." Pippin chimed in. "And it especially don't feel right, knowin' you're gonna be back here."

Alandria half-smiled. "Well it gives you all the more reason to come back, now doesn't it?"

"We don't need a reason, milady." Merry answered solemnly, and Alandria nodded just as seriously.

"No, I know you don't. Here, come here." She held out her arms, and the little hobbits stepped into her embrace eagerly. Alandria held them tightly, relishing their sweet, innocent comfort. "I'll see you two when you win that battle for me, okay?" She pulled back and tried to smile. The hobbits mimicked her expression, both nodding. "Now go on - finish getting ready." She gently pushed them back towards the door, unwilling to draw out her goodbye any longer than necessary, and they obeyed slowly.

"'Bye, Alandria." Pippin waved slightly.

"Goodbye, my lady." Merry nodded, and ushered his friend out the door.

As soon as they were gone, the other three of the Fellowship stepped in. Gimli came to her side first, already in his full armor, but head low.

"I'm sorry to be goin', lass."

"It'll be alright, Gimli."

"I know, I just wish ye could be there with us. It would make it seem more right, if you get my meaning."

She nodded, touched. "I do, and thank you. But with me there, you'd have less numbers to beat Legolas by."

The Dwarf smiled at her weak joke, and chuckled softly. "Aye, that's true. So maybe it's best you stay here after all."

She chuckled as well. "Maybe."

"Get well, milady. I want to see ye walkin' around when I return."

Alandria smiled softly, noting his 'when', not 'if'. "Will do, my friend." He nodded, bowed his head to her, and then left.

Legolas came next. "I do not know what to say, Alandria." He paused, glancing down, then steadily meeting her gaze again. "We will meet again, I am sure, whether it be in this world or the next. And so I will not say goodbye, for it seems too dark. I merely say I look forward to our next meeting." He bowed low, and Alandria smiled softly.

"And I will say the same, only lacking your way with words." The Elf smiled in reply, and touched her hand gently, then left quickly and silently.

Aragorn stood alone now, and quiet. "Do you not have any 'goodbye' as well?" Alandria asked.

His turquoise eyes were sad, and thoughtful. "I do not know. I try not to think that we will not return, for if I lead men into battle with no hope in my mind, how can I expect them to fight? Yet I am not so foolish as to think we can have victory in arms. But we may still have one."

"A victory?"

"Yes."

"How?"

He gazed at her firmly. "Frodo, of course. And Sam."

"You still think they're alive out there?"

"Don't you?"

She shrugged slightly. "Truthfully, I haven't thought much on it lately. But really, what are the chances?"

"We would know if Sauron had the Ring."

"Doesn't mean they still have it either."

"But it is likely they do. And so, if we can distract Sauron long enough for them to destroy the Ring...then that is our chance of victory."

"So that's what this is - a distraction?"

"Yes." Alandria sighed, shaking her head and turning away. "Alandria, I am sorry for this, but there is no other way."

"I know."

"If I could, I would have Éomer stay."

"...What? Why?"

"For you, my lady. I would, but I know he will not-"

"For me? Aragorn, you speak madly."

He smiled softly. "I do not think I do."

"You do, no matter." She shook her head again. "But I am sure you need to leave soon. I will delay you no longer. Go Aragorn, be the leader you were born to be." She smiled warmly. "Lead the greatest stand there has yet been."

He returned her smile, softly. "Thank you. And as you've already been told - get better soon, my lady. And have hope for us." He bowed his head to her, and quietly left.

The room felt silent again, and it stayed empty and silent for seemingly so long that Alandria began to fear that they had all suddenly left. Even Him. But then the sound of booted footsteps sounded softly, and He came round the corner, and into her chamber once more. His handsome features were solemn, faintly frightened, even though he tried to disguise it. He came to a stop at her bedside, and slowly lowered himself to one knee. They said nothing, as his dark gaze fell down to the bed, and then he gently took her hands in his larger ones. He merely played with her fingers for a moment, twisting and untwisting them with his. Alandria allowed herslef to watch their hands entwine again and again, not soothed in the least bit by the nervous action, but surprised at the ease with which he had been touching her since she'd first woken.

"Éomer?" She asked softly, and he glanced up quickly, then back down.

"I'm worried, Alandria. About you."

"Me? I'm not the one riding into battle."

"Yes, but to leave you here is not any more comforting." He looked up again, holding her gaze. "You know I would have you by my side, if I could, yes?"

"I know. It is alright though. I will watch Éowyn." She tried to find something reassuring to say, knowing he was troubled to leave her. "I'm so sorry Éomer...I'm so sorry..."

"Sorry?" He asked softly, cradling her face in his hands.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved towards you after the celebration after Helm's Deep... I- I'm sorry about how..how cruel I w-was.." Tears choked her words now and blurred her vision, as she struggled to control herself in spite of what was happening. "I'm sorry I w-was always s-so..angry... I never meant it... Anger was j-just easier..t-than the truth..." She gasped through the heavier tears, the pain inside her impossible to bear silently. She'd never realized just what the Horse-lord truly meant to her. "I'm sorry I never l-let you know what I t-truly felt... And n-now..now, it's too late.."

He sighed softly, dark eyes warm and sympathetic, and pulled her close into a firm embrace. "I will come back, Alandria." He murmured huskily. "I promise you, I w-"

But she was shaking her head, pulling away. "Don't." She commanded harshly, to his surprise. "Don't try to promise me that."

"But-"

"No, Éomer. P-please."

He obeyed, falling silent but continuing to stare at her with worry and confusion. His dark hazel eyes were again illuminated by a shaft of sunlight, and they burned into her, the rivers of deep green and flecks of gold swimming in them blazing like jewels. She ached already with the pain of missing him, and the sorrow of knowing he likely would not return. She acted on impulse; her hand reached forward to hold the side of his warm face, the hair of his short beard scratching her palm. And then she pressed her lips to his. The action flared a fire inside her, and the connection was soft, sweet. The Lord's warm lips parted hesitantly under hers, moving slowly with surprise. She was quick to withdraw however, and leaned back nervously. Éomer looked extremely disoriented: his eyes wide with surprise, and lips still partially parted. Alandria fought the urge to kiss him again.

"Now go." She whispered roughly instead. "Go."

"Alandria-"

She shook her head, feeling water in her eyes. "Go."

He looked almost offended, but accepted her order and stood. He hesitated though, dark eyes searing into her once more, rough fingertips trailing along her jaw a final time, before slowly turning away and striding quietly out the door. Alandria could not watch him go. Her eyes stayed focused on the stone work of the wall, and the soft sound of his fading footsteps was only a backdrop to the softer fall of her tears. She was suddenly horrified by what she had just done.


	25. No Dream

******Wow, this is a long chapter...lol. But there was a fair amount of ground to cover, and as I've said - I love Faramir entirely too much. I'm quite nervous about writing him, and hope you all think my interpretation is fair..please, let me know! And trust me, Faramir shall certainly be a reoccurring character :)**

**Cheers xx**

******Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.**

* * *

There was still half the day left upon the leaving of the soldiers of Rohan, Gondor, and what remained of the Fellowship. Alandria however remained alone and quiet in her room, claiming frailty from her wounds. It was not a lie, but perhaps exaggerated. She simply did not wish the company of others as her loved ones departed. She could hear the sound of the retreating footsteps and hoofbeats through her window, and prayed eternally that she would hear them return as well. But she could not fool herself. Everyone knew any chance of them returning was ridiculous. But that did not make it hurt any less.

Unsure what else to do, Alandria lay down uncomfortably on her bed, and closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep, for once. Nightmares or no, she wanted to sleep. Her leg burned and throbbed painfully, her ribs stung with each breath, and her entire body ached with bruises and weariness. She was exhausted. Sleep would hopefully hide the aches and pains for a while, and pass the length of time that Éomer and the others were away. Luckily she did not have to wait for sleep long, as her body quickly took advantage of her willingness and pressed into unconsciousness. She did dream: dark dreams of bloody battles and burning towns; strange dreams of stranded maidens and valiant knights. She woke in a rush, escaping from the frightening images of her mind, to a dark room. Her body still ached. She groaned and carefully rolled to her side, only to whimper sharply as her ribs stabbed her with fresh pain.

"Milady?" A shadowy nurse's head appeared around the corner of the doorway. "You alright?"

"Do you think I'm alright?" Alandria growled through clenched teeth, hissing as she moved again and her leg flared. "By the gods," She gasped, as the nurse came scurrying over in a beacon of candlelight, then lit a lamp at Alandria' beside. "how can it hurt so much?"

"Tis alright milady, least you're awake. You'll heal faster now."

"Ugh-huh." Alandria grunted as the woman lifted her upright, then rested her back against some pillows. "God damn. It didn't hurt this much earlier!"

"Well milady, you did have other things to think about earlier." The lady smiled apologetically, then turned her eyes down to observe Alandria with a critical eye. "You'll need a new wrap on that leg of your's. How are your ribs?"

"It hurts to breathe."

"I'm afraid I can't do much about that, milady. You just have to be careful, and let them heal." Alandria groaned softly and closed her eyes again. "I'll go and get some new bandages and salve for your leg, alright? I'll be right back."

"_Athelas?"_

"Pardon, milady?"

"Is there anymore _athelas_? Just a tea made of it would help."

"Yes, I think there is some. I'll see what I can do."

Alandria nodded slightly. "Thank you."

"Of course, miss."

She laid her head back against the pillows again, and sighed heavily. Her body still stung and ached, although admittedly not as strongly as before. So she was healing. Healing. She thought about the word for a moment, considered it closely. Healing - not only her outer body, but was her heart and mind healing as well? She remembered what happened between her and Éomer just before he left. How it had been her that carried out the action. What did it mean? There was no denying she had wanted to kiss him, and certainly no denying that it had been pleasant, but now she wasn't sure if it had been wise. He was riding to war, and they all knew he wouldn't survive unless the gods had some unforseen will, and Frodo and Sam managed the impossible. And she couldn't raise her hopes high enough to believe in that. Plus - her stomach panged with the thought - she wasn't quite ready to give up Boromir. Yes, he was gone. No, he was never coming back. But she still longed for his face and voice and touch, longed for it more than almost anything. But at the same time, there was another face and voice and touch she longed for, one that was still living. For now. Hadn't the point of her coma-like dreams been that - she needed to move on from the Gondorian, and accept the one that was still alive? Shouldn't she listen to her mind, for once? Her head pounded now though, and she raised a hand to her aching temple just as the nurse bustled back into the room.

"Here's your tea miss. You alright?"

Alandria just grunted, eyes half closed, and took the warm wooden mug. She sipped it carefully, and then took a steady gulp upon discovering it wasn't too hot. Instantly her body felt comfortably warm, and her aches subsisded slightly. She drank more, and soon drained the mug satisfactorly. "Thank you." She breathed, as the woman took the mug away.

"I'm gonna fix up your leg now miss, that alright?"

"Go ahead." She replied quietly, as her eyelids felt suddenly very heavy. Her entire body seemed weighed down, and the pain resided to only minor uncomfortable tingles. The _athelas_ was quickly working it's power, and she let exhaustion and the herb put her body to sleep, oblivious to the woman unwrapping and cleaning her wounded leg.

* * *

And so it was for the next three days: Alandria was forced to say in her bed, doted on and made to stay quite and rest. The nurses that waited on her were surprisingly watchful and strict, and some part of her assumed Éomer and/or Aragorn had given them specific instructions to be so. Then finally came the third morning: Alandria woke up remembering no dream, and certainly no nightmare. It was oddly comforting and restful - sleeping soundly and undisturbed. She opened her eyes and winced slightly at the shine of sunlight coming through the high window at her bedside, but slowly became adjusted to it enough to open her eyes fully. The light was pale yellow and crisp, smelling delightfully of fresh grass and flowers. Just the smell alone made her feel better. She shifted slowly, and then grunted as she swung her legs towards the floor. Her wounded leg throbbed, but she ignored it, more concerned with getting to her feet. Shakily, she stood up, her weight resting heavily on her good leg. Her ribs ached and protested at her efforts, but she pushed the annoying pain to the back of her mind, noticing a crutch nearby. Someone must have expected her to try and move about soon. They were wise not to try and hinder her. She grabbed up the crutch quickly, and wedged it under her right arm, leaning generously on it. Her entire body still ached, and she still felt hot and dizzy with the fading fever, but she needed to move. She wanted outside, where the air was fresh.

Slowly and unsteadily, with much grunting and wincing and pausing, she limped out of the room, and towards the open hallway where sunlight poured in. She came upon something resembling a wide courtyard, filled with grass and plants of greens and golds and pale yellows, a grand stone fountain in its center, but no water flowed merrily from it's spout. The courtyard was beautiful, but in a sad way, as there were no birds singing, no bright flowers happily bloomed, and the slight breeze that moved the grasses was chillingly cold. She shivered, and began to regret her choice to climb painfully out of the bed, and come into this depressing garden. But just as she began to turn away to hobble back to her soft bed to gain some more rest, something caught her eye several paces away. Alandria studied the figure, and knew then she still slept, and dreamt.

She envisioned that, standing silhouetted in the opening of an archway, outlined by the sun's pale yellow rays, was her long-lost Gondorian soldier. He was not quite the same as before though - he still had his shoulder-length, red-brown hair and comfortably proud bearing, but he was little less in stature, and slighter in build. But death takes it toll on all, and this was a dream, after all.

"Borom-" The man turned in alarm at her voice and the name leaving her lips was cut short. This was no dream. And the man was not Boromir. Yes, he bore a frightening resemblance to Boromir, but he was different. Gentler features; darker blue eyes; and a much more innocent, pained look was about him. "I- I'm sorry.." She breathed, taking a shaky step back.

"What did you just say?" The man asked quietly, and his voice was gentle, but had a hard edge to it, almost like he had forced it to roughen. It was not the deep, velvet rumble his older brother's had been. For she knew quite clearly that this could be none other than Faramir. "By what name were you about to call me?" He asked, slightly louder now, watching her curiously.

Alandria found she could not deny the man an answer. "Y-your brother's, lord." She murmured, her gaze dropping to the ground.

Silence fell, and she could feel his eyes upon her, but he said nothing for several breaths. Finally she heard him shift, and quietly clear his throat. "My brother's name? You know it?" She nodded, suddenly quite conscious of how much her leg throbbed, of the burn spreading through her flesh, and how unsteady she felt on her feet. "How come you to know of my brother?"

"Please lord, I am not feeling well. I should get back to bed.."

"Please, my lady," he stepped quickly forward to stop her, claiming her attention. She looked nervously up, and found herself locked in a surprisingly familiar stare. Of a darker color than his brother's perhaps, but just as pleading and urgent. "Just tell me how you knew him."

Alandria stared at him for a long, still moment, and found again she could not deny such a familiar face an answer. A true answer, as well, for she correctly guessed he had suffered enough by now. She swallowed, and felt a wave of heat from the fever wash over her again. "I loved him, Lord Faramir." She answered softly, so softly she was surprised to see he heard her, as his tired eyes widened in surprise, and he rocked gently back on his heel. Alandria bowed her head, and stepped carefully away. Then, once it became apparent he was no longer going to hinder her, she began to limp carefully back towards her room.

"Wait- my lady!" His voice called out to her after a few steps, and she hesitated. "Please, let me assist you." Without waiting for her approval, he took the crutch from her, substituting it with his arm and shoulder. Alandria was resilient to accepting this man's help, for as generous as his offer was, he himself was in the Houses of Healing and surely not without reason. When she verbalized this thought to him, he only smiled. "You are not wrong, but I have been here longer than you. I am well enough to aid a lady to her bed, I think."

"And may I ask what caused you to be here?" She asked politely, emerald-green eyes glancing at his familiar features uneasily.

The young man remained quiet for a moment, his dark gaze focused on the ground before them. It wasn't until they came to her room that he answered her, his gentle voice low. "My father."

Alandria had heard from Boromir of the mens' father and his lesser opinion of Faramir, but she was surprised to hear he had caused his only living son to be stuck in the Houses of Healing. "Your father? How?"

"He did not mean to." Faramir replied quietly, soft blue eyes staring sadly towards the floor. Alandria remained silent in the awkward moment, until he lifted his sight to meet hers, and spoke again. "I do not know your name."

"Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn." She answered easily, and he nodded, bowing his head.

"I am pleased to make your acquiantance, Lady Alandria."

She bowed awkwardly in return. "Likewise, Lord Faramir." He studied her curiously, dark, intelligent eyes roving hers as she said his name again. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, she spoke first. "Have you come across any others in these healing halls, or am I the only one?"

He observed her peculiarly, then shook his head. "No, there are many others here as well. But am I right to assume you are asking if I have yet made acquiantance with your Lady Éowyn?"

She smiled slightly. "You are correct."

He smiled more fully, and then nodded. "I have indeed met her." He turned then and glanced back towards the sun-lit courtyard, and a curiously wistful expression crossed his face. "Yes, I have indeed.."

"Is she alright then?" Alandria prodded, and he turned back to her as if waking from some spontaneous dream.

"Yes, I think so. She's getting better at least..." His voice trailed off with his wistful expression again, and Alandria nodded uncertainly.

"Well then. I should get back to bed, lord, to get more rest. If you...when you see Éowyn again, will you tell her I am better?"

"Aye, I will. I do not think it would be wrong to assume you can find her often in the gardens, in the coming days." He smiled gently again, his soft features comforting, and then backed away with a bow of his head. "Rest well, my lady. I certainly hope to speak with you again." With one last glance at her, his dark blue eyes boring into her in curiosity, he then left her in quiet.

Alandria made her way tiredly back to her bed, and fell onto it with a satisfied sigh. The annoying crutch fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and she winced, hoping none of the nurses would hear it and come to bother her. She needed to be alone for a while. She lay back, pushing away the fire that had spread in her leg wound, the constant ache of her ribs, and the fatigue that weighed on her again. There was a larger matter pressing on her mind. The face of a young man, bearing a haunting resemblance to a face she hadn't seen in weeks. Still handsome, still noble and stern, if a little less so than his brother, and still alive. She was unnerved by the sudden encounter, and felt now more than before a regret for her actions with Éomer. Now, upon seeing someone so much like Boromir, she was reminded of how she had felt before with him, and how she still felt for him. But he was gone. Was it wrong for her to feel for another already? And what of when Faramir learned of her involvement with his older brother, as he was sure to ask? Would he think her foolish, or unworthy, or pity her as so many others did? And what, a final part of her asked, if none of them lived to consider these thoughts any further?

* * *

The rest of the day passed with Alandria resting, although begrudgingly, as she was tired from her short walk to the courtyard and back. She rested, dreamless, and was woken in the mid-afternoon by a nurse with a tray of food. She ate eagerly, as she had been since awaking in the Houses of Healing, and lay quietly alone and in thought. By the late afternoon however, she had grown bored with sitting in her troublesome thoughts, and decided to try again to walk. She stood shakily, still sore and tired from her earlier efforts, and found the crutch to be rather useful as the pain in her leg was not any less. Back and forth around the small room she limped, going too slow for her liking and often stumbling, filling the quiet space with grumbled curses and grunts. It did not take long for her to wear out again, much to her dismay, but upon feeling both her legs quiver as she stood, she obliged to return to the bed.

So it continued for the next number of days: Alandria would wake, eat, chat with a nurse if they were so inclined, and then spend long periods forcing herself around the room. Soon, she became at ease with the crutch. Then sometime after, she managed to use the crutch only in half of her walking, although she did tire faster then. But once she had become comfortable with rarely using the instrument, and developed a somewhat stronger endurance, she could walk easily for longer periods of time. She also would look out her wide window in her practices, and often saw the Lord Faramir and her Lady Éowyn standing together in the gardens. She watched them curiously, although slightly nervously, fearing she was out of her place. Then came the occasion where they exchanged close words, she could see, and then clasped hands. The action surprised her, but also made her both pleased and saddened. Pleased, to see Éowyn start overcoming her pain and learn to care for someone other than Aragorn. Saddened, as their joining left her feeling more alone than before, as the days grew on and still no word came of the Captains that had left to battle.

Hours later, as evening was coming and the sun had changed to a dark, warm gold, Alandria persuaded herself to stop wallowing in her self-pity and to venture to the open courtyard again. In an added stroke of defiance, she left behind her cumbersome crutch, and limped slowly but steadily to the open-walled garden. The fountain still remained silent and without water, draining cheer from the bright gold and green plants. The clouds in the sky seemed aflame with the dying gold and red sunlight, and together the stony white city and flaming sky created an indescribable picture. She limped carefully to the very edge of the courtyard, standing up on the parapet, and looking down upon the vast open and empty lands that stretched before the White City. Her silence did not last though, as she shortly after heard footsteps behind her.

"Have you finally decided to come out, Alandria?" Éowyn asked tauntingly, a faint smile on her pale face.

"Indeed I have." Alandria forced a small smile in return. "Fresh air seemed like a nice idea."

Éowyn still smiled, and nodded. "Yes, it is a lovely night."

"Beautiful sunset." Alandria commented, and once Éowyn nodded in agreement, they lapsed into silence. The air was still and quiet, not even any birds dared sing, and Alandria wished dearly that the fountain ran with the cheerful sound of water. But it did not.

"I know about you and my brother, Alandria." Éowyn said suddenly, breaking the silence and immediately claiming the dark-haired woman's attention.

"My lady, I don't know what-"

"Alandria." Éowyn smiled gently, turning to face the woman beside her. "I am not blind to stolen glances and lone moments, my friend."

Alandria flushed warmly, then turned and looked pointedly towards the rust-haired Ranger that had quietly entered the courtyard. "Neither am I, my lady."

Éowyn's face gave away nothing, as she stared impassively at the handsome young man."That is a more complicated manner, Alandria."

"Is it?" Alandria asked doubtfully

"You love my brother, that is simple. I...I do not know what I feel, and if I have yet lost my feelings for another. That is not so simple."

"Simplicity is for each own person to divine, Éowyn." Alandria argued softly.

The White Lady studied her friend curiously. "How do you mean?"

Alandria shrugged slightly, turning to gaze back out at the lands of Gondor. "You say I love your brother. Perhaps this is true, I myself am not certain."

"How can you not be certain? Do you not know what you feel?"

"You said you don't yourself." Alandria challenged, glaring sharply at her friend. Éowyn opened her mouth to protest, but closed it after a moment's thought and stared hard at Alandria, who then continued. "Nay, my friend, it is that..I think..I am afraid of what I feel. And afraid to give up my feelings for He who was lost so long ago.."

"Lord Boromir, you mean?" Éowyn asked softly, and Alandria nodded.

"Aye. I am afraid, Éowyn, to entrust myself to another and forsake him, as though it would be to spoil his memory...does that make sense? I am afraid it will be frowned upon.."

"Alandria, is it what you yourself want?"

"I..I don't know.."

"Yes you do. Do you want to love someone who can love you back, Alandria? Do you want to move on from the memories of Boromir, and have happiness?" Éowyn's wide blue eyes studied her friend intently. "Do you?"

Alandria stared at the ground, her eyes not seeing the pale grass and stone, but focused on the thoughts tumbling through her mind. It was everything she'd thought over the past week, and it rolled into one answer, as she nodded hesitantly: "Yes."

Éowyn seemed to relax, and smiled slightly. "Then you should be afraid of nothing. It is past time you moved on, Alandria. Boromir would not deprive you of happiness, and being loved. He is gone. You are here. You must have your own life."

"But I still love him, Éowyn."

"And you still can. But others also love you Alandria, and do you not love them?"

Alandria knew precisely whom the golden-haired lady spoke of, and she nodded. "Yes, I think I do."

"There is your answer, my friend. And I am happy for it."

Alandria glanced at Éowyn nervously, and saw she did indeed smile, faintly, but warmly. Alandria returned it nervously, and then glanced furtively again in the direction of Faramir. "And is your matter of love and happiness not answered as mine is?"

Éowyn's faint smiled disappeared, and she seemed thoughtful, even troubled. "No, no it is not."

"How so? I see the answer plainly." Alandria looked pointedly again at Faramir.

"No, Alandria, I do not know if it is that simple."

"Then let me help. You came suddenly and helped me resolve my woes, can I not do the same for you?"

"I thank you my friend, but no, I think this matter is for myself." Alandria tried to protest again, but she cut her off. "I do not understand it well enough myself to explain, Alandria. But if you please, I should like to retire for the evening." She glanced almost nervously toward Faramir, and then back to Alandria. "Goodnight." She then smiled faintly, turned, and quietly strode away in a twirl of dark robes.

Alandria was left quite confused and uncomfortable upon the balcony of the courtyard, and after a glance at Faramir that showed him watching after Éowyn, she turned her body once again to the darkening lands laid before the city. The conversation with her Lady that had just occured admittedly unnerved her, the further she thought about it. Éowyn could never understand the reluctance she had to move on from Boromir, nor the betrayal she felt she would be commiting. Irrational, perhaps, but she could not rid herself of it. She still loved Boromir, and still missed his soft, deep, velvet-like voice, and blue-grey eyes that swam with rivers of pale green, and his strong, warm hold.. And yet she also might be coming to love Éomer, the tall, strong, and handsome Rohan man she had never looked twice upon over the years. But still - what if a choice did not even have opportunity to matter?

Words sprung into her mind then, and she spoke them without thinking, noticing only how appropriate and right they sounded at that moment: "A darkness veiled in light, sought beyond the ability to see; Where have gone the ones to fight, or did they ever be? Battles beyond hope and return, beyond the toils of past; Battles of..of...battles-"

"To be remembered, of doubt that shall not last."

Alandria whirled at the voice suddenly beside her, wincing as her leg flared with irritation. Her alarmed gaze fell on the lean figure of the last remaining Steward's son. Quickly she turned away from the young man's intense, observing stare and looked back out at the empty lands before her.

"Does that fit well enough?" Faramir asked, studying her with a faint, gentle smile. She nodded only slightly in reply, and he followed her green gaze out to the battlefield that lay beyond their sight. "Did you make that yourself?" He politely asked. "It's very good."

Another slight nod, and she replied softly, "Yes, my lord."

Alandria could feel the man watching her, but it was not a completely unnerving stare; he seemed simply to be trying to figure something out. "May I ask you a question, my lady?"

"Yes, lord."

He smiled gently. "You do not have to call me 'lord', my lady. I am not even Steward yet."

Alandria flushed slightly. "Then there is even less reason for you to call me 'lady', lord."

He smiled more fully. "Well said."

Alandria allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. "Your question, then?"

"Yes. I am curious, Alandria, as to why you avoid me so." He paused, letting his question register, before continuing in his soft, steady voice. "Perhaps I am foolish to be unable to think of any discourtesy or offense I may have caused you, but as I have never laid eyes on you before our meeting here I am slow to understand why, for the past five days, any time I am near you abandon your place. Can you not explain?"

Alandria had dropped her gaze ashamedly to the ground halfway through his speech, and there it still lingered as her face flushed in embarrassement. "I tell you now, Lord Faramir, you have never caused me any discourtesy or offense. You are a great man from what I so far have experienced, and I apologize for causing you such trouble. But I do not deny I have been avoiding you - however, I do have an explanation, if you desire to hear it."

"Aye, I do." He watched her intently, as she grew slightly nervous.

"Lord Faramir when I first met you, I told you I knew your older brother. I told you I knew him because I loved him. You remember this?"

"Indeed."

"It is not untrue. Has..has Lady Éowyn spoken to you of any of this?"

"She has tried, but I restrained her because I felt it was your own place to speak."

Alandria felt a wave of compassion for the startlingly considerate man beside her, and then further embarrassement. "That was very kind of you, sir. I will tell you now, then, a very short overview of your brother and I: we met in Rivendell, and both became part of the journey of the Ring. We travelled together for many miles, and grew to know each other over that distance. I am not sure how it happened, but eventually he came to mean something dear to me, and I to him. I did not fully realize this until we came to the realm of Lothlórien, and there shared a brief moment together. There we...we kissed for the first time, and did nothing more than that, but it brought many things to light." Alandria was unashamed to inform Faramir of this, this moment no one else knew of, feeling that as Boromir's younger brother, he had a right to know.

"Perhaps you don't want to hear this, but I feel it is something you should know: in that moment, I saw a side of your brother I would never have expected to see. A side no one, I think, would have expected to see. He was frightened, Faramir. He told me it, and he looked it. He was frightened for all that he knew was coming. But in that fear, I found I loved him. For now not only was he one of the strongest men I had yet met, but he also showed he had weaknesses, and I found I loved those too. His weaknesses I'm sure you can guess - or at least one of them. It was you, Faramir. He was afraid for you and what was happening with him gone. Often he told me about you, and I can understand why he cared for you so. But his immense love for you is partially why I have avoided you." She swallowed, struggling to hold her voice, and met the man's intent gaze. "I was there when Boromir died. He very nearly died in my arms, but for his insisting this not to be, perhaps to spare me from the horror I'm sure it would have been. But just before he died, he asked me to tell you he was sorry, and that he loves you. I'm sure these are words you don't need me to relay for you to know, but I feel I must anyway. I was told them many weeks ago, and still have not forgotten. Still, that is not my reason for avoiding you. It is that, in my loving your brother, I felt you would disapprove of me. I thought you would find me unworthy, or foolish. And, perhaps even more strongly, I found - find - it difficult to...to speak with you so closely, like now, when - I am sorry - you bear such resemblance to your brother." She closed her eyes for a moment, a few tears glittering on her dark lashes, and then she opened them and watched the ground.

"It has been weeks since Boromir died, and yet his death is still too fresh upon me. Foolish as it may be, it is hard to face you, who is so much like him. And yet...so much unlike him as well." She paused, glancing up, and then quickly added. "In many beneficial ways, I assure you." She cleared her throat then, glancing down, to the side, and then back up in nervousness. "Such is my reasoning for avoiding you, if you will have it."

The man's even, intelligent ocean-blue gaze bore into her for a moment, and then he nodded slowly, and looked thoughtfully away. His thoughtful silence weighed on Alandria, and she waited nervously for his reply. It came after what seemed hours, but was likely less than a minute, and his voice was soft and gentle, "Thank you, Alandria, for telling me that. I am glad that my brother found someone to love before he died - I was sure he would live out his days with duty to none other than his country and people. An honorable way to live, as I'm sure both he and my father would have thought." A faint, bitter smile curled the edge of his lips. "But I always thought he needed to know how to love and be loved, as foolish as that may sound. But I'm glad he found it with you, Alandria. You seem strong, well-fitted for him." He turned and looked earnestly at her, and she found reassurance in his gaze. "But even were you not as you are, I would never have found you unworthy or foolish, Alandria. I assure you."

She smiled faintly, believing his words. "Thank you."

He reflected her smile, and then after a moment it faded the slightest. "I know how he died, Alandria. I know of the Uruk-hai, and how he fell to protect two of your hobbit friends." He paused, then glanced at her with a look of something like sympathy. "I know he tried to take the Ring."

Alandria could not hide her surprise at this news, but could only find one thing to say: "...how?"

"It is a long story." He smiled faintly. "I had a...well, a dream. I saw my brother in a boat, floating past me in a river. With that, I knew he was dead. Then later I found his horn, cloven in two. But then I came across two tresspassing hobbits, and with them they had an object of great importance. The Ring." He sighed softly, his dark eyes thoughtful in the memory. "I myself was not particularly drawn to it, but I sensed they feared I would be. Especially the Bearer, Frodo. He treasured it. And upon learning who my brother was, he became even more cautious. It was not hard to figure out."

"I'm sorry, Faramir." Alandria said softly. "You must feel..let down by your brother, for him to succumb to the Ring."

"Let down?" Faramir echoed in faint surprise, then shook his head. "No, not at all. I understand it perfectly. Boromir was always one for power. My father practically forced it on him. And if he saw in the Ring something powerful that he thought could save Gondor, well then, it makes perfect sense. I would assume however, that you were the one let down by his actions." He watched her carefully. "Is this not correct?"

Alandria lowered her gaze, unable to look at the young man. "Yes, I think so." She whispered, then swallowed nervously. "But I never held it against him. I knew..knew he was better than that, succombing to the Ring. It was just a moment's weakness." Her voice lowered even more. "Just for a moment."

Faramir watched her, taken slightly aback by the sadness he saw on the face of the young woman before him. He truly had never expected to meet one that loved his brother so. The fact that she lost him as well tore at his own heart. "Boromir spoke of me then?" He said softly, hoping to alter the subject somewhat.

"Yes. Quite often, actually." She smiled slightly, then it wavered and fell as she looked back up.

"And what all did you hear?"

She shrugged slightly, wrapping her arms around herself as the evening grew cooler. "At times, I would hear stories of you two when you were younger. Boromir always smiled a lot when he told me those. They made him so happy." She smiled again, both wistfully and sadly, then sighed quietly. "Then he would talk of how much he missed you, and worried about you, left behind with your father."

"He mentioned our father?"

"Not a lot, but sometimes. Mostly only when he talked about you." She paused, glancing up at the gentle, quiet, intelligent man. "So yes, I heard of how Lord Denethor treated you, and thought of you. I am sorry. Only now do I see how truly terrible those stories were."

But Faramir shook his head, taking a couple silent steps away in thought. "Often I would hear of how my presence cursed both my father and brother, and what little use I truly had. Boromir would stand up for me, as much as I hated it, but there was only so much he could do. He too had to obey our father, and at times, that would mean lending a deaf ear." He sighed softly, sadness shining through his dark blue eyes, tainting the noble features that were so like his brother's. "I think that after Boromir died, my father believed the House of Stewards truly was damned, and there could be no salvation."

Alandria watched Faramir as he spoke, reading each emotion as it flicked across his handsome face. She could see the sadness and pain he wore, combined with immeasurable burdens. She stepped closer to him, touching his hand with her own, and he turned to look at her. She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way, squeezing his hand gently. "I tell you now - he was wrong."

Faramir smiled tentatively back, warmed by her gesture. They stared at each other for a long moment, with faint smiles and understanding exchanging in their eyes, before he nodded. "Thank you, Alandria." She nodded back, before releasing his hand, and turning back to stare at the landscape that was now nearly black. "Would you.." he hesitated, then continued on as she looked at him again. "Would you like to hear some more stories of Boromir and I, when we were kids? I'm sure I've got plenty you haven't heard." He waited somewhat nervously for her answer, suddenly sure she had had enough of his company, but was relieved as she smiled and nodded.

"Absolutely."

"Excellent." He smiled widely back. "Come, let's sit down."


	26. Sing and Rejoice

**Wow, I can't believe I took so long to update! I was out of town for a week, but then I just spaced. So sorry! This chapter moves kind of quickly, but I couldn't find any other comfortable way to write it. Let me know what you think..**

**Cheers xx**

* * *

Then came the day, the seventh day since she had been left behind in the Houses of Healing, and there was a change in the air. It was colder, and stranger, and made all nervous. Alandria stayed in the walls of her room, and was hesitant to even look outside, for fear of what she might see. When she did find the courage to look, however, a familiar sight met her eyes. She cast a glance out her window, down the pale gardens and stone fountain below, to see, as usual, the autumn-haired Faramir and golden-haired Éowyn standing together. She had seen this many times over the past week, and yet it never ceased to sadden her heart. Éowyn had been to speak with Alandria, and they had held many conversations in the past several days, but rarely had the young Steward been mentioned(for the nurses' gossip had indeed informed Alandria that Denethor was dead, and Faramir now rightful Steward). Whenever the subject of him was come upon Éowyn grew quieter, and her gaze would drift thoughtfully. Alandria was not sure what to think of these moments, as she was happy that Éowyn was - in a way - also happy, but a stronger part of her burned with sadness and tinged with jealousy. She slowly dropped her gaze to the grim grey of the walls about her, and turn away from the window with a heavy heart.

Shortly after she returned to her room however, she was roused by the faint sound of singing. She looked out her window, and saw clusters of people about the city below her, looking at the sky with smiles on their faces. Curiosity peaked, she promptly limped out of her room, back into the courtyard, as the song grew louder and more clear:

_"Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, for the Realm of Sauron is ended forever, and the Dark Tower is thrown down._

_Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard, for your watch hath not been in vain, for the Black Gate is broken, and your King hath passed through, and he is victorious..."_

Alandria couldn't believe it; staring up at the sky, a giant eagle soared gracefully overheard, the most beautiful song she'd ever heard spilling from it's beak. Not that the sound itself was the most beautiful, but the words, they were glorious, dream-like words she'd never expected to hear.

_"Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West, for your King shall come again, and he shall dwell among you, all the days of your life._

_And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed, and he shall plant it in the high places, and the City shall be blessed._

_Sing all ye people!"_

The eagle finished to a roar of joy and disbelief from the city below, and soared gracefully away, leaving them to discern what had happened before the Black Gate. Alandria could barely register the words she had just heard, so great was her joy. She felt she could not speak, or move, or even think, numb as she was just then.

"Alandria!" Éowyn's voice cried her name, breaking her awe and turning her head. The golden-haired Lady rushed across the courtyard, eyes wide and a smile on her face. "They made it! Sauron is defeated! We will live! They have lived! Can you believe it?"

"No." Alandria shook her head truthfully, a foolish, awed smile on her face. "I never thought it possible.."

"Who could've believed it could happen!"

A sudden thought struck Alandria: "My lady, do you know if there was battle?"

Éowyn shook her head. "No, I do not. I would assume there was." Alandria glanced around, chewing her lip worriedly, and her friend noticed. "Alandria, be happy. Perhaps they did fight, and there were losses, but the Free People are victorious!" Faramir appeared then, and claimed Éowyn's attention, as she turned to smile at him. He tossed Alandria a warm smile over Éowyn's head, but Alandria said nothing more, remembering how the eagle had eased all their worries with his song just minutes before. _Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, for the Realm of Sauron is ended forever, and the Dark Tower is thrown down... your King hath passed through, and he is victorious.._ He had told them what Alandria had believed to be impossible: The War of The Ring was over. Sauron was now only a nightmare of the past. They would all live freely for the rest of their days. Life would go on. She was unfathomably thrilled, but found she couldn't find the energy to express it. She knew what causes for which there were to rejoice, but a pessimistic part of her reminded her that she did not yet knew who all lived. And it bothered her.

* * *

Her worries were shortlived, however, as little over a day later, a messenger arrived with news. Her wait may have been short, but she couldn't have been more relieved when the rider arrived. She hadn't rested easy since the eagle flew over, and she knew there had been battle. But the tired messenger came with tidings of a battle before the Gate, the news that plenty had fallen, but also many had survived. Alandria waited impatiently as he spoke before Faramir, hearing little of what she truly cared about. Then the messenger called for Éowyn, and Alandria. They both were already waiting eagerly in the large, elegant marble Hall, and merely stepped forward to hear what news the man brought.

"I have tidings for both of you from two of the same persons: the King Aragorn bids me tell you both he is well, and that he owes you both greatly for this victory. The Lord Éomer-"

"He's alive?" Alandria cried, the words bursting forth from her. She did not see Éowyn and Faramir's smiles, only the messenger's patient nod.

"Yes. He bids me tell you both he is well also, and summons you to the field of Cormallen. He says he wishes dearly to see you both. That is all." The messenger bowed low to Faramir, who nodded and dismissed him.

As soon as the man had exited, Alandria turned eagerly to the woman and man before her. "We must go and meet them!"

But Faramir was already shaking his head. "I have duties to be taken care of first. I must prepare for the King's arrival."

"I will stay as well."

Alandria started in alarm at Éowyn's soft proclamation. "My lady? But your brother summons us. And Aragorn will be there as well!"

"I will stay." Éowyn repeated. "I am still weak, and tired. I will see my brother when he returns to the City."

Alandria stared in disbelief, knowing the Lady's excuse to be near a lie. But she could not understand why the woman would turn down the chance to see her brother, after such trials. "Éowyn, but it is your brother-"

"I know who it is, Alandria." Éowyn replied firmly, dark eyes surprisingly cold, sadness shimmering beneath the surface. "I shall see him when he comes to the City. You should go though."

"You may travel with the wains taking goods to Osgiliath and Cair Andros." Faramir offered politically. "They shall be decent enough company." Alandria did not reply, her curious eyes still on Éowyn. "Alandria?"

She broke away from staring at her friend, turning back to the rust-haired young man. She hesitated, then forced out the heavy words, "No, thank you for the offer. I will stay as well."

Faramir stared at her for a moment, surprise not hidden on his fair face, and slowly nodded. "Aye then. As you wish."

Éowyn stared back at Alandria without expression, and the air thickened with unspoken challenges and harsh words. Just as Alandria felt her skin start tp prickle, and had the irresistable urge to yell at her Lady and demand to know why she was so strange to stay behind, Éowyn turned in a whirl of white cloth and strode out of the Hall. Alandria stared after her, the footsteps echoing sharply in the quiet.

"I don't understand." She murmured. She turned to Faramir, looking upon him pleadingly. "Do you?"

He hesitated, dark blue eyes still lingering toward the door Éowyn had just disappeared through. "I think I may."

"What, then? What reason could she have for staying, and not going to see her brother, and Aragorn?"

"I will not say. It is not my place."

Alandria glared at the aggravatingly respectable man. He merely glanced at her, then turned away, hands clasped casually behind his back, and paced towards the Steward's chair sitting at the bottom of the steps before the King's empty throne. His steps echoed as Éowyn's had, although perhaps not as sharply. She glanced around the Hall, observing closely for the first time since she'd stepped into it. The ceiling stretched up far higher than was necessary, but it was fitting. Everywhere it was almost startlingly white, save for the great black and gold pillars, and the slabs of black marble that were decorated elegantly throughout. Between each huge black, white, and gold pillar there was a tall, large-than-life pale marble statue of some long-dead king. The Hall was huge, tall, colorless, and cold. Not just in temperature, but in feeling itself. Too long had it been the shelter of a greedy, corrupted Steward; too long had it not known the care of a King. She trembled slightly, suddenly struck with a powerful longing for the smaller, warmer surroundings of the Golden Hall, with it's dark brown woods and soft golds.

With one last glance at Faramir, who stood with his left side facing her, staring intently at a statue before him with a troubled expression upon his face, she quietly turned away. She would leave him to handle his troubles on his own. Right now, she wanted only to return to her room and look out the window, across the pale, silent gardens, and out to the empty lands from which her loved ones were to be returning.

* * *

It was too crowded, with men she'd never seen bustling about and townspeople and servants and maids and nurses and everyone running about crazily. She threaded her way uneasily through the throng of people higher up the levels of the huge city, unsure where she was or where she was going, only knowing she searched for a certain face. Spotting an opening in the thick crowd, she slipped through it, and arrived before a large gate, with surprisingly few people around it. She looked around then, seeing that most of the other people were moving down the city's levels, opposite of her.

"Hello, _déore*_."

Her entire body froze; she stiffened, her lungs paused, her heart ceased beating for a moment. A feeling oddly resembling terror struck her. But it was not terror. It was something much, much better than that. Slowly, she turned round to face him.

It had been less than a fortnight since she'd seen him last, yet it felt like months. He was still tall, broad shouldered, his body held in a casually commanding way; his dark gold hair still fell in waves just past his shoulders, a short, light brown beard still lined his firm jaw and full lips, his dark brows still expressed round hazel eyes and gave a stern image to his dark, rugged and handsome features. Yet it all seemed different. Brighter, stronger, newer, better. He was more gorgeous than he had been when he left. And she knew now, in this moment of seeing him again after being so sure he had left her never to return, she knew what she truly felt.

Without a word, Alandria dashed forward the distance between them, and was immediately caught up in his warm embrace. His strong arms lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a tight circle with him, and their mouths clashed together unyieldingly. She had her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, one hand fisted in gold waves of his hair. One of his arms held around her waist from one side to the other, while his other arm wrapped from her waist up and to her shoulder. They were crushed together, Alandria felt she might not be able to breathe, but she didn't care. Nor did she care of the sharp ache he reawakened in her ribs. All that mattered was he was with her again, and he was holding her again, and kissing her again, and would continue to do so. They broke for air then, and the tall man lowered her gently back down to her feet.

"Éomer.." She whispered, tasting his name and relishing it. "You're alive...gods, I missed you.."

He smiled charmingly, resting his forehead against hers, and gazing down at her warmly. "What is this? You cry upon seeing me again?" He teased her lightly, as she found that tears were indeed spilling from her eyes.

She laughed weakly, staring back up at him. "You laugh at me? It is the same for you!" He chuckled warmly, his own warm, dark eyes glistening with overwhelming tears, and kissed her again. Alandria revelled in it, marvelling at the rough, warm touch of his lips. He claimed her mouth eagerly and freely, both hands holding her head, keeping her close. He tasted faintly of ale, and strongly of relief. He tasted warm and strong and comforting, and felt likewise under her palms. Her hands twisted in his shirt, attempting to pull him closer than was physically possible, wanting to pull him straight inside her, needing him to just reach in and cover the hole that another man's death had torn into her months ago.

"Easy Alandria, easy." He whispered breathlessly, breaking away from her tight hold.

"I'm sorry I just...can't..."

"I know, love, I know." He smiled gently, loosely clasping her shaking hands in his and holding them to his chest. His dark eyes were warm, a swirl of light brown and dark gold, glazed with moss-green. "I'm right here now though. And I don't plan on goin' anywhere anytime soon, don't worry." He lifted one hand to cradle the side of her face, gently stroking her dark hair as his features grew more somber. "This isn't like last time."

She stared back up at him, her dark, grass-green eyes searching in his warm hazel ones. "It's really over, Éomer?"

"Yes." He whispered back, holding her tighter. "It's over. The Ring and Sauron are destroyed. Mordor is overthrown."

"And we can go back home, to Rohan?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, but not right away. Aragorn must first be coronated."

"Of course, I nearly forgot! I haven't even seen him yet.."

"He has been very busy. I myself have hardly seen him since the battle ended."

"But he is well?"

"Very. And already his men have accepted him as their King."

"That is no surprise." Alandria smiled faintly. "He has always truly been their King."

Éomer reflected her smile, and nodded. "Indeed he has." He paused then, and observed her for a silent moment, dark eyes intense and thoughtful. Alandria felt a shiver race up her spine beneath the look, for reasons she did not know. "Speaking of Kings, Alandria, I have-"

"Alandria?"

The Man of Rohan was interrupted by another voice speaking her name, and she turned towards it. The noble, dark-haired man they had just been speaking of strode toward them, a wide smile lit upon his handsome face.

Alandria and Éomer quickly disentangled themselves, and Alandria rushed eagerly towards her approaching friend. "Aragorn!" She cried, smiling widely herself. She embraced him strongly, soaking up the sound of his gentle chuckle.

"I see you're feeling better." He commented, pulling back with a smile still on his face.

"Much. I can walk now."

"So I noticed." He chuckled again. "Have your days passed well?"

She shrugged, unwilling to admit the true torment the past week had been. "Well enough."

Aragorn glanced past her then, and around where they stood, as his features sobered. "Where is Éowyn?"

Alandria studied him mildly. "I assume in the Hall, with the Steward."

"Is she well?"

"That shall be for you to determine, I think."

Aragorn sighed, looking down in thought, and Éomer glanced over at him before looking back at Alandria, dark eyes confused.

"I worry for her.." Aragorn muttered softly, then glanced at the two before him. He raised his head higher then, and became suddenly proud and wise and commanding just as quickly and flawlessly as the sun can break from behind a cloud. "With the Steward, you said?"

"Yes."

"I need to speak with him anyway. I shall go to them, then. There are many things that need attended immediately..." Already his pale eyes were roving busily around the city. It took a moment, but they finally came back to rest on Alandria and Éomer. The Ranger smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I'm so...busy. Will you accompany me?"

"Of course." Alandria eagerly agreed, secretly interested to see how Éowyn, Aragorn, and Faramir would all interact with Éowyn and Faramir as close as they now were. Over the past few days, it had seemed that Éowyn had abandoned her hopeless love of Aragorn and given it over to the young Steward - much to both Alandria and Faramir's pleasure. The gentle, intelligent autumn-haired man fit well for the strong-willed White Lady, and clearly had grown to love her dearly. Alandria had found this love resentful for a while, but only - she knew - because she hadn't had Éomer around. Now though, as she did have him, she was curious as to what Aragorn would think of Éowyn and Faramir, once he found out about them. But she knew it was not her place, and was pleased enough with Éomer's company that she was content to let them alone.

"Let's stay," She said, placing a hand on Éomer's arm as he made to follow the Kingly-Ranger. "They will do fine without our company."

The Horse-lord looked down on her with a soft smile, nodding. "Aye, then. And what shall we do?"

"The others!" She suddenly exclaimed, dropping his hand with a wide smile. "Legolas and Gimli and Merry and Pippin and-" her eyes widened as she realized something more, "and Frodo and Sam! They-" she froze then, as caution crept into her still features. "They..are alive..yes?"

The tall man's warm, honey-hazel eyes carressed her face as an equally warm smile teased his lips. "Yes, so they are. But they are being taken immediately to the House of Healing. Frodo especially is very weak." Seeing her face fall the slightest, he took her smaller hand in his rough one in comfort. "But later, I assure you. And now you can still see the others. Come, let me help you find them."

Alandria smiled up at Éomer, entranced by his handsome acceptance of her desires, and comforted merely by his presence at her side. "Aye, milord, we shall-"

"Éomer." He interrupted, stopping short.

Alandria stared up at him again, her emerald-green eyes roving his warm hazel depths. She smiled slightly, a flush across her face, and nodded once, firmly. "Éomer."

He smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss her softly and quickly once more, then led her back through the throngs of people to search for her friends.

* * *

** * - it may not need to be interpreted as it's pretty easy to understand, but "deore" in Old English means "dear". There'll be another couple instances of Old English/Rohirric throughout, but I'll always have a translation at the end of the chapter**


	27. Madness

**My word. I apologize - I practically forgot about updating. I've definitely had the time, just not been thinking about it. I'm very sorry about the delay! I'm trying to get things moving, I promise, and to wrap this story up soon I'm going to lengthen the chapters a bit. I just realized it's been nearly a year since I started posting. Wow, time flew. Thank you so, so much, those of you that have endured and are still enduring the trip! Your loyalty means everything.**

**xx Cheers**

* * *

The entire population of Minas Tirith - or what was left of it - was gathered on the highest level of the city. They were pressed closely together, often pushing each other around for a better view. Alandria herself did not have such problems, as she stood comfortably at Éomer's side a few meters down the aisle of the crowd. She was excited, and happy, and peaceful. She smiled anxiously across the aisle at Éowyn and Faramir, whom stood close together. They both smiled back, Faramir bowing his head slightly, and then turning his attention towards the front of the aisle. Éowyn held her gaze for a second longer, smiling faintly, her dark blue eyes flicking to the tall man at Alandria's side, and then towards the same place as Faramir watched. A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Alandria then herself turned to look as well, just as Aragorn stepped up the white steps before the Hall. Gandalf and Gimli already watched at the top of the steps for him, and as he approached, Gandalf took from the Dwarf a lovely crown of silver and gold. It was fashioned with the seagull wings symbolizing the Men of Numénor, and the Wizard wasted no time before gently placing it upon the dark-haired Man's head.

"Now come the days of the King!" Declared Gandalf, a faint smile on his face. He looked down at Aragorn then, smiled more fully, and murmured something Alandria could not hear.

Aragorn then rose up straighter, and turned slowly to face his audience. The change in him was unbelievable. He seemed taller, stronger, wiser, the rich colors of black and silver and red and bronze fitting him perfectly. The scruffy, hardy Ranger Alandria had come to love so much hardly seemed to exist anymore. It was a somewhat unnerving feeling, and yet she could not deny the pride she felt for the Man as he so easily bore his Kingly title. The people of Minas Tirith let out cheers and applause, seeing before them, at last, a true King.

"This day does not belong to one man," Aragorn began in his gentle voice, "but to all. Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace." The crowd cheered again, and Alandria smiled, joining in the applause. Aragorn bowed his head then, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Alandria stayed her hands, attentively watching the man. _"Et Eärello, endorrena utúlien.."_ He sang softly in Elvish, quieting his audience immediately, and laying them under a peaceful trance. Alandria did not understand the words, as many others did not either, and yet they all discerned the comforting meaning. "_..sinome maruvan, ar Hildinyar.."_ He stepped smoothly down the short stairs, and began to walk slowly down the aisle of people. _"..tenn Ambar-metta."_ He finished gently, just as he came to Alandria and Éomer, after passing Éowyn and Faramir, who had bowed to him. Alandria and Éomer mimicked their bows, and Alandria smiled nervously up at the King. He smiled warmly back, glancing from her to Éomer, before bowing his head and moving on. Éomer grasped her hand then, and she looked up with a smile into warm, gold-brown eyes. She looked towards Aragorn again, as he came to Legolas. The two exchanged a warm smile, placing a brotherly hand on each other's shoulders, before something behind the blonde Elf caught the King's attention.

Alandria waited patiently, knowing what he saw, for she had already seen it. Her eyes dropped unconsciously to the ground as she waited, nervously, for the Elf-maiden to reveal herself. She knew when she did, for several women in the crowd gasped softly and began to murmur, surely at the maiden's beauty. Alandria shifted uncomfortably. As the long seconds passed slowly by, she finally - hesitantly - looked up. Arwen was looking down too, but Aragorn lifted her chin with his hand. As she raised her face to his, Alandria was struck again with how perfectly beautiful she was, even more so than the Lady of Lothlórien. Her skin was like snow-white porcelain, her hair waves of ebony, her eyes blue as the ocean, features dainty and perfect. Aragorn stared intently at her with amazement Alandria could not see, but could feel, and his Elf-maiden stared back with tears in her eyes and smiled faintly. The Ranger-turned-King swept forward to take her in a kiss, holding her in his arms as he slowly spun. Alandria looked away, glancing first at the ground, and then nervously up at the Man beside her. He watched the King and his Lady embrace, and try as hard as Alandria did, she could not read the expression in eyes and features. Uneasy, she dropped his hand and turned back to the scene before her.

Aragorn and Arwen walked on through the crowd, which parted for them like water. Soon they were out of Alandria's sight, but in the unrealistic silence, she heard Aragorn's soft voice carry. "My friends," He said gently, and she could hear the smile in his voice, "you bow to no one." She knew he spoke to the hobbits, and as one the surrounding crowd lowered themselves to their knees, in respect to the little _hobytlas_ that had saved them all. Alandria glanced up, seeing the four little men standing nervously side by side, staring out across the mass of bowed people in amazement. She could not, even then, believe all was ended and done. Frodo and Sam had destroyed the Ring. The Ring was gone. Sauron was gone. Forever. Now the people of Middle-earth could live in peace and happiness, until their time came to an end.

The crowd rose again, and turned into a bustling mass of noise. Most of the people stepped forward to meet the new King, or the little hobbits, and Alandria was quick to slip out of the throng of people. She abandoned Éomer without a second thought, doubt strong inside of her as she glanced once more at the flicker of the green dress Arwen wore. Pressing her lips firmly together, she strode further away from the noise of the crowd. She hated crowds. Instead, she exited quickly out the gate and headed down to the fifth level, where the streets were empty and quiet, with the gathered people only a murmur in the background. She stood with her arms crossed before a large window looking out over the plains to the West, to the sea and directly opposite of Mordor. The image of the perfect Elf-maiden seemed burned into her mind, combining with the stare of Éomer and driving further doubt and worry into her. She held her head in her hand, muttering softly.

"Why is it that I always find you alone when others are enjoying themselves?" Alandria started in alarm at the deep, soft voice and looked up to see the White Wizard walking slowly towards her. She tried to smile but it merely flickered, before disappearing completely. "Alandria, what is the matter?" The ancient man asked gently, now at her side, and studying her features thoughtfully.

Alandria opened her mouth, grasping for words as her eyes raced desperately over the plains out the window, and then dropped her head with a faint smile and exasperated sigh. "There is always something the matter with me, isn't there?" The Wizard did not answer, and she was pressed on by his silence. "It's foolish but I just.. I can't help... I feel so.." She growled, pinching the bridge of her nose, and then sighing heavily again. She turned and faced Gandalf head-on, her grass-green eyes boring firmly into his. "The Lady Arwen. She's beautiful. Impossibly so. And although I know - we all know - her love is Aragorn and his love is her, but..but what is to keep..others from noticing her? I have no doubt already that several men of the city have fallen for her beauty. I can't..." She broke from her stare-down with the Wizard, glancing aside nervously. "I can't compete with her."

Gandalf remained silent for a moment, staring at her intently. He sighed then, and shifted his hold on his staff. "You are afraid the Lord Éomer will find her more beautiful than you." He did not ask, but stated.

"No, I _know_ he will find her more beautiful than me. I am not beautiful!" Alandria laughed harshly, shaking her head and turning to the window again. "But I am afraid he may...may love her, or become infatuated with her, and I..." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper, "I won't exist anymore."

"My dear girl," Gandalf sighed, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "You cannot truly think this?"

"Oh? Can't I? She is so beautiful, Gandalf!"

"So are you, Alandria." She scoffed, trying to pull away, but he held her still. "Your Lord Éomer is much wiser than you are giving him credit for. Beautiful Arwen may be, but Éomer would never trade a intelligent and loyal steed for a pretty show-horse. And you, my dear, are much lovelier than any steed." He smiled warmly, squeezing her shoulder gently. "You cannot think Éomer would let you go that easily."

Alandria shifted, suddenly feeling extremely foolish, yet refusing to admit the doubt that still lingered. "You may be right Gandalf... I am sorry. I am..foolish."

"No, dear," He smiled again, "you are in love."

She flushed, smiling faintly. "Perhaps."

"Now, will you return to the company in the level above?"

Alandria glanced up towards the continuing murmur of people. "No, I do not think so. Crowds are not for me."

"They have their duties, they will disperse soon. And then there shall be a dinner and celebration for the victory and crowning."

"A celebration? When?"

"Less than a couple of hours, I would assume. They've been preparing for it all day."

Alandria raised an eyebrow. "How is it you always know these things?"

The Wizard smiled with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "A Wizard most always know these things, Alandria. Especially when one might be part of the entertainment!"

Alandria laughed lightly, recalling all the stories she had heard from Merry and Pippin. "Fireworks, Gandalf? Still?"

The old man chuckled, shrugging, but the stars in his eyes seemed even brighter now. "You'll have to wait and see. Come along Alandria, let's go back up. Your friends will be missing you."

Alandria doubted that, knowing the townspeople were sure to keep them busy, but obeyed the Wizard anyway. She cast one last glance out the window, across pale green plains, towards a lonely ocean she could not see.

When the Wizard and Rohan-lady had arrived back in the courtyard before the Hall, the number of townspeople had not been any less nor was it any quieter. Alandria cast Gandalf a somewhat arrogant smirk, shook her head, and turned away with a sigh. She could not see Aragorn or Arwen at this point, nor Legolas, Gimli, Éomer, or any of the hobbits, for that matter. She glimpsed Éowyn and Faramir, but they were speaking with a tall, elegant, black-haired man and quickly disappeared behind a group of commoners passing by. She began to wonder what in the world could have convinced her to follow Gandalf back up here.

"Alandria!"

She turned around at the chirping voice, to find Pippin and Merry scurrying towards her. "There you two are! Where are Frodo and Sam?"

"Goodness if we know!" Pippin panted. "I only just managed to find Merry in this mess."

Alandria had to smile at the little man's remark. "Madness, isn't it?" The hobbit only sighed heavily in reply, glancing around.

"M'lady, is there anyway we can get out of here?" Merry asked then. "For a little while, anyway."

"I already tried. It won't work; Gandalf will just come and retrieve us."

"Not if he can't find us, he won't." Pippin piped up eagerly.

"Oh?" Alandria raised an amused brow. "And just where do you think Gandalf the White won't be able to find us?"

Pippin grinned. "I know a place, c'mon." He began to jog away, then glanced behind and stopped when he saw Alandria and Merry hesitated behind. "C'mon now, it's nothin' that'll get us into trouble! I promise, Alandria!" Alandria hesitated still, then finally smiled and shook her head, patting Merry's shoulder and following the little green-eyed hobbit.

Pippin led his friends to the base of the sixth level, away from the courtyard and Hall, further back towards the mountain. They passed only a very few shops, no houses, and then came to a place completely shadowed by the side of the mountain. A dark grey door was built into the stone wall, and Pippin scurried towards it eagerly. He stumbled to a stop at the door, and then tugged on the handle. To Alandria's surprise, it began to open, although slowly. It was obviously heavier than the hobbit had expected, so Alandria stepped forward to offer a hand. They finally got the heavy door open, and found inside a dark, stone-made stairway lit by a single torch.

"You'll need to grab that, it's the only one." Pippin pointed up to the torch, which was out a hobbit's reach. Alandria picked it up, and followed the hobbit curiously up the stairs, Merry in front of her.

"Where in the world does this lead to, Pip?" Merry whispered nervously, glancing at the cold stone walls.

"You'll see. Perhaps not a great hiding place, but I doubt Gandalf will look here."

"What, inside the mountain?" Merry whispered harshly. "No one will. And what if that door gets shut? And locked? We'll be trapped in here forever!"

"Oh calm down, Merry." Pippin muttered. "We're not staying in the mountain. See - here. A door."

Indeed they had come to a door, one closely resembling the door downstairs. Alandria offered to open it, handing Merry the torch and then twisting the door's handle, before throwing her shoulder against it. The portal swung open easier than she'd expected, and she stumbled forward into blinding sunlight. Shielding her eyes, she kept the door open until she heard the hobbits' footsteps pass her. Then she shut the door, and slowly lowered her shielding hand. Alandria hadn't expected to be so high up, and froze for a moment to get her bearings. They stood on a small cliff, over-looking the city. The streets that had just recently walked upon were at least a hundred feet below them. She could only barely hear the murmurs of the on-going coronation. The view of the land before the White City was breathtaking though. Although she could see the black mountains of Mordor, they were easily ignored at the great, heightened view of the gold and green grasslands of Gondor. For miles and miles she could see, and turning around, she was treated to the shine of the sun sinking towards the Western horizon. As she had turned though, she only then noticed the huge object in front of her. At the edge of the cliff they stood on was a great wooden pyre, made of heavy brown logs heaped together as a square.

Alandria turned to look down at little Pippin. "Is that a beacon?"

"Aye."

"We're up on a beacon-post?"

He looked up, smiling proudly. "Aye."

Alandria shook her head, smiling softly. "No, I doubt Gandalf will look this high for us." She sighed then, noticing a low bench just beside the door they had exited from, and immediately going to sit on it. "Ah, now this is nice. I feel like I've been standing all day."

"You _have_ been standing all day, Alandria." Pippin chuckled, and sat beside her, his short legs swinging off the ground.

"You alright Merry?" Alandria asked curiously, watching the other hobbit glance nervously off the cliff's side.

"Uh, yeah I'm..I'm alright.." He glanced nervously down again, then hurried over to his friend's side. He noticed Alandria's curious glance and flushed, looking down sheepishly. "I'm don't so much like heights."

Alandria just smiled, and leaned her head back against the wall. It was quiet for several moments, the dull murmur of chatter of people many, many feet below forgotten, and the warm sun slowly turning the white stones of the city from yellow to gold. The quiet of the hobbits was surprising, but they were even more tired than she. The sun was warm, and quiet peaceful and relaxing, and soon Alandria's troubled worries about Éomer and an Elf-maiden slipped away into a soothing sleep.

"Alandria? Merry, Pippin?" A voice calling her name slowly woke Alandria back up. She blinked slowly, wincing as she discovered how stiff she was. "Alandria? Hobbits? Where are you? The festival is starting... Where've you gone?" The gentle voice sounded close for only a moment, and then drifted away again.

Alandria staggered stiffly to her feet, looking around tiredly. The gold of the sun had turned black, with only a dark amber and red at the edge of the horizon. Hardly able to see, she had to carefully step over to the hobbits and listen to their breathing to realize they had fallen asleep too, and quickly shook them awake. They jumped awake in surprise, and just before Pippin could ask a question, the door to the stairs opened.

Legolas stood there, and seemed surprised to have actually discovered them. "There you are." He said softly, and Alandria realized it had been him that had woken her. "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Depends what you mean. Whole time of what?"

"Since the coronation."

Alandria yawned briefly. "Since some of it, yes." She glanced at the dark horizon with a grimace. "We, uh, fell asleep."

The Elf smiled faintly. "So it appears. Well come along, the festival is just about to start and you've got everyone terribly worried."

Alandria rolled her eyes mockingly. "Oh what could've happened? The War is over, or doesn't anyone remember?"

Legolas chuckled musically. "Don't ask me, I was sure you were all fine. Lord Éomer, however, insisted we find you." Alandria felt warmth grow in her stomach at the Elf's words, and smiled briefly. "Frodo and Sam the same."

"Well then, we should go and put their minds at rest. Come on, Merry, Pippin." The two still-tired hobbits stumbled after Alandria and Legolas, who had managed to re-light the torch to lead them back down the stairs.

As they came into the courtyard, Alandria was surprised at the simple, elegant changes that had occured for the celebration. Torches flickered all around, and low-strung lanterns lit the area warmly. Flower petals laced the ground, making Alandria cautious of where she stepped. Legolas led them towards the open doors of the Hall though, where greater light and sound streamed out. Once they stepped into the Great Hall, Alandria was quick to realize this is where the true celebration was meant to be held. Tables were set before the statues lining the inside of the Hall, laden with drinks and rich foods. Many people were grouped in the space between the tables and the throne, and although there were many of them, Alandria noticed they were now just soldiers instead of common folk. Aragorn stood at the stairs before his throne, his beautiful Arwen holding to his arm, and he spoke to Faramir. Alandria wondered where Éowyn was just as the Lady and her brother appeared.

"Alandria!" Éomer visibly relaxed upon seeing her. "You vanished."

"The hobbits and I went to find some quiet away from the crowd." She placed a hand on Merry's curly head. "There was no need to worry."

Éomer noted her stern tone and held her green eyes in confusion, but she abandoned his gaze to look down at the hobbits below her. "This is a celebration, you two. Why not go get some food and drink? I know you're hungry." She smiled teasingly as both hobbits glanced at the nearest table greedily. "Go on, I'll find you later." She nudged them both away, and without further encouragement, they went to satisfy themselves.

"Alandria," Éomer stepped closer to her, lightly holding her elbow, hazel eyes concerned. "is something wrong?"

She glanced over to where Aragorn and Arwen chatted, then back at the man before her, his dark eyes focused solidly and intently upon her face. She smiled weakly. "No, nothing. Come on, let's get something to eat." The golden-haired man followed her hesitantly, still confused but deciding not to press it. They each picked what rich and delicate foods they wanted, wine and ale as well, then joined Merry and Pippin - who had found Frodo and Sam - at a nearby table.

"Frodo, Sam!" Alandria exclaimed upon seeing them. They both smiled widely in returned, Frodo even laughing warmly.

"Thank goodness you're well, Alandria! We'd both heard quite a tale about you." He glanced over at Merry and Pippin, taking a sip from his ale.

Alandria chuckled after her own sip of wine. "Nonsense then, I'm sure."

Frodo merely chuckled. "So it's not true you rode into battle with the Rohirrim disguised as a man?"

Alandria flushed, swallowing. "Well mostly nonsense, then."

The blue-eyed hobbit smiled. "I thought so."

"And you, what about your hand?" Alandria glanced at the bandaged right hand of the hobbit. "So that's true, then?"

Frodo glanced down at his hand sadly, then over to Sam, who was chewing on a piece of cheese with wide, innocent hazel eyes. "Yes, it's true."

"Small price to pay, I suppose, yes?"

"Indeed." Frodo agreed, and Alandria paused for a moment before shaking her head as she chewed a piece of sweet bread.

"I just can't believe it."

"Believe what, Alandria?"

She smiled slightly. "That you two are actually alive. I hate to say it, but I really didn't think you'd make it."

The young hobbit smiled sadly again, big blue eyes soft as his voice. "Neither did we, Alandria. But here we are."

"Here we all are." She added.

Pippin raised his mug of ale then, and held it toward the center of the table. Merry followed suit, as did Alandria, Frodo, and finally Sam. They waited though, refusing to press them all together. Éomer realized with surprise that they were waiting for him, and smiled nervously, surprised to be included in their gesture, and then lifted his mug too. The six of them clanked their tankards together, raised them up again, exchanged smiles with one another, and took deep drinks.


	28. Ic Lufie Pe

**Another longg chapter, but I'm feeling bad about how ridiculously long this story has become, and trying to get it over with. I have it all written and done, it's just a matter of posting... Now I hope this isn't too mushy. I get really paranoid about over-doing it..**

**Cheers xx**

* * *

After they had finished their meal(or in the hobbits' cases, meals), the hobbits dispersed to their own entertainment, and Alandria and Éomer were left alone. They remained quiet, just enjoying sitting near each other and the comfort of each other's presence. Not long after the hobbits had run off, a cheerful tune of music came from the courtyard. Alandria watched many of the people disperse out to the open ground, and after placing a hand on Éomer's arm to get his attention, they followed. The soldiers had partnered off with their wives, and now danced in friendly pairs atop the white stones littered with flower petals. The crushed petals gave the air a sweet scent, mimicked by the sweet sound of the violins, drums, flute, and other small stringed instruments that had appeared. The night air was warm with the bodies of others, the lovely courtyard light gaily by the laterns and torches, and Alandria could not help but find comfort in the cheerful celebration.

"A dance, my lady?" Éomer smiled at her warmly, bowing low and extending his hand gracefully. Alandria didn't even hesitate to smile back and take his hand. The music's beat was moderate, on the verge of quick, but comfortable at the same time. Éomer's rough hands held her around the waist, and her hands were placed upon his shoulders. The tall man stared adoringly into her emerald eyes as he led her in smooth circles, back several steps, in another smooth circle, and then forward a step, then again. Alandria could hardly breathe, his body comfortably close against hers, and as the music smoothly shifted into a slower tune, she rested her head against his broad chest. His strong arms encircled her more tightly, and his chin rested atop her head. Alandria forgot the other dancers around them, focusing on the heartbeat she felt beneath her touch, and the warmth and security of his hold, and the soothing smell of honey-scented soap, nearly overwhelmed by the constantly-lingering smell of horse. She wanted to tell him of her foolish worries about Lady Arwen, and how she was jealous of the maiden's beauty, and how scared she was that he wouldn't want her anymore, and she wanted him to tell her she _was_ beautiful, and that he would always want her - but they were interrupted.

The song ended, and just as Alandria opened her mouth to speak her thoughts, a throat cleared nearby. The two broke apart and turned towards the new arrival. Alandria's annoyance at having been interrupted quickly dissolved, however, when she saw it was Aragorn. She smiled, bowing deeply, with Éomer mimicking her, and breathed his name.

He in turn smiled gently, and bowed, before glancing over at Éomer. "Would you allow me to steal a dance with her?"

Éomer nodded, smiling slightly and stepped back. "Absolutely."

Alandria tossed a smile in his direction, then readily took the King's hand. Éomer disappeared as she was led to the flower-covered dance area by the dark-haired man, but she paid him no attention. He would go and get a drink, and she would join him once she'd finished her dance with Aragorn. She glanced up at this thought, into the quiet man's pale turquoise gaze. He smiled down at her, and she was drawn to return it. The music started again then, slow but not quite romantically, and they found a smooth rythm with one of his hands holding the small of her back, and the other extended their arms away from them.

"So I see your injuries do not prevent you from enjoying yourself." He commented softly.

"You mean the dancing? No, it doesn't seem to be bothering me." She smiled back. "It's not that much different from walking, after all."

"Are you not tired from all the excitement of today?"

She shrugged slightly. "Yes, but not so much that I'm prevented from the celebration of your crowning. No injuries caused by a mere weapon could keep me from this!" He chuckled at her reply, and she smiled back, ignoring the constant burn of pain and irritation that had been seeping through her thigh for the past hour. Her ribs ached too, but only barely and it was much less bothersome than the arrow wound. Still, despite her hidden irritations, she would not be kept from the company at the celebration.

"Well I am glad to hear you are well, and enjoying yourself. Éomer and you seem to be getting along quite well." His gentle gaze drifted over her head, to where Éomer must have been, and then he looked back down at her with a smile.

Alandria flushed slightly. "Yes, well..." She shrugged again and he chuckled warmly.

"I understand. I'll leave it alone."

She flushed again. "So, uhm, you are to be married soon? To Lady Arwen?"

He smiled softly, lovingly. "Yes, I believe so."

"Her father has given her consent?" Alandria had learned plenty of Arwen, Elrond, and Aragorn's relationship over the past months and knew of Elrond's reluctance to let Aragorn wed his daughter, and make her mortal.

Aragorn nodded, serious. "He has, and I am eternally grateful. I know it was not easy for him." He paused, then smiled slightly. "Although perhaps avoiding the end of the world has given him a new sight on some things."

Alandria reflected his slight smile. "I am happy for you. She's..very beautiful." Aragorn merely smiled softly, nodding but mind too busy to be listening anymore.

The song ended then, and Alandria and the King separated in the brief quiet.

"Thank you, Alandria, for the dance."

"And thank you, my lord." She bowed and he smiled uneasily before nodding, and turning away.

Alandria turned to look for Éomer, but he couldn't be found in the suddenly thick throng of people. She made her way toward the Hall again, picking up a mug of mead as she entered. It was much less crowded in the great marble Hall now, as all the celebrators seemed to have moved towards the open area of the courtyard. A few people did still linger in the Hall though. A couple Gondorian soldiers chatted at the meat and cheese table, Faramir spoke to the elegant black-haired man Alandria had seen at the coronation earlier, and the four hobbits still sitting at their table quickly made their presence known.

"Alandria!"

"Oy, Alandria, where've you been?"

Merry and Pippin shouted at her, to Sam and Frodo's embarrassed smiles, but she merely laughed and made her way over to them. "Miss me, boys?"

"Of course!" Pippin chirped. "It's quite lonely in 'ere without knowin' anyone."

"But you know Lord Faramir, don't you?"

"Well yes, but 'e seems a bit busy now don't 'e?"

Alandria rolled her eyes, smirking. "Well then, if you're so terribly lonely, why don't you all go into the courtyard? They're dancing and have got music. It's all quite lovely." The hobbits went quiet then, shifting nervously. "What?" She asked, glancing at all their faces. "What is it?"

"Nothin' really," started Sam nervously. "It's just that..well, they keep treatin' us all like some sort o' heroes, or somethin'. 'Specially Mr. Frodo here. It's gettin' to be quite a bother."

Alandria shook her head, smiling. "Oh come on now, it can't be all that bad." Each of the four looked about to protest, so she held up her hands to keep them quiet. "Listen, most of the men out there have had plenty to drink by now, and are all busy just enjoying themselves. I doubt they'll give you much of a bother anymore. And you really shouldn't hide out in here with the celebration out _there._ That's not very hobbit-like at all!"

The four boy-ish hobbits exchanged glances with each other, and finally nodded simultaneously. "Alright then." Frodo said, and at his word, they all rose and exited the Hall. Alandria looked after them for a moment, amused by their unexpected humbleness.

"My lady?" She turned, and saw now only Faramir stood with her in the Hall. "Are you alright?"

"Of course."

He smiled faintly. "Good. I was just wondering why you are by yourself in here, and not out in the celebration."

"I was, already, but came in for a break." She studied him for a moment. "Why aren't you out there?"

"Just too much business of my own to take care of, at the moment."

She nodded, looking around. "Who was that man you were speaking with? I saw him earlier, at the coronation."

"That was Prince Imrahil, of Dol Amroth. He aided us in the battle."

"Oh.." She had heard of Imrahil. His line was known for their Elven blood, which explained the elegant look about his features.

He glanced at her, and smiled faintly again. "Do not worry, we were speaking only matters of business and such." Alandria nodded, looking back out to the throng of people in the warmly-lit courtyard. "Shall we go join the celebration, then?" The rust-haired young man extended his arm formally. Alandria hesitated though, glancing towards the celebrators again.

"Where is Éowyn?"

"Out there already. She is not one for talk of business or politics." The man smiled more clearly now, eyes shining as he looked towards the courtyard. "Come." Alandria obeyed, taking his arm, and let him lead her out of the Hall. The air seemed to have become warmer as the people became more abundant and active, and the warmth gave an even more friendly feel to the environment. "A dance, if I may be so bold?" Faramir asked her then, as the band began to play another song. She was unable to resist the familiar-featured and friendly man, and nodded her agreement. He smiled warmly again again. "Excellent."

He pulled her forward then, into the crowd of dancing people, and they were quickly swept into the swiftly-moving group. The tune was quick, upbeat and cheerful, and just the sound of it made Alandria smile. She claimed the position her and Aragorn had previously been in: her right hand on his chest, his left at the small of her back, and their free hands clasped together, extended to the side. But they moved considerably faster than she and the Ranger-King had done, with smiles and laughter included. The Steward was a lovely dancer, slight and quick on his feet. The music grew faster and louder and brighter until, just before it ended, Faramir released his hold around her back, and she spun beneath his other hand. Alandria laughed in surprise, whirling in a circle, and then caught easily by his steady arms. The song came to an end, and she was still laughing, even as they clapped for the band.

"Thank you," She chuckled, grinning at the young, handsome man, "Thank you for that. You're very good."

He smiled easily back. "You're well enough yourself, for being partly crippled." He teased, and she merely chuckled again. "Could I possibly entreat you to one more?" He held out his hand formally as the band played yet another song, this one considerably slower.

"I'm afraid I-" Alandria began to refuse, meaning to seek out Éomer, but her words were stopped. Éomer stood a handful of people away, and he led a beautiful woman to the dancing floor. Alandria did not recognize her, but she was tall - only a couple inches shorter than the Horse-lord himself - and thin, and elegant in a way that made her seem to float instead of walk; with porcelain skin, raven hair, and brilliant grey eyes; her face soft and gentle, with a small, sweetly and slightly tilted-up nose, high cheekbones, and slender coral-colored lips; wearing a silver-white dress that hugged her thin form perfectly and gave the illusion of glowing. She was not more beautiful than Lady Arwen, but as close as Alandria had yet seen. Alandria stared as she followed the tall, golden-haired Horse-lord onto the petal-covered courtyard, and fell elegantly into his strong hold as the slow music started.

"Alandria?"

She started, turning back to Faramir, only just remembering he stood there. "Oh, uh, yes..yes one more..." She glanced back over at Éomer and the strange woman, seeing how well they fit together and moved, and then whirled back to the Steward as her stomach rolled. She swallowed nervously, her hands shaking as they rested on the young man's chest, shivering as his held her waist. The moved together slowly, but stiffly, as Alandria became suddenly aware that she was doing exactly what Éomer was doing - dancing with another. But it was different for her. She'd had his permission- to dance with Aragorn. So why not Faramir? But did that mean Éomer needed her permission too? She sounded like a fool. But the woman he was with, she was beautiful, completely beautiful. Yes Aragorn was certainly handsome, but betrothed, and Faramir was the same. Somehow she doubted this strange woman was. Again fear crept into her, as she caught another glimpse of the two together. A charming smile lit the man's face as he gazed at the woman. Was it her imagination, or did they seem closer to each other?

"Alandria, are you alright?"

She flinched slightly at Faramir's soft voice, and glanced into dark, concerned blue eyes. She quickly looked away. "F-fine. I just...I..can't." She broke away from the Steward then, and quickly strode out of the slow-dancing group of people.

"Alandria!" Faramir called her name, following after her. He gently caught her arm, studying her closely. "What's the matter?"

Alandria glanced towards the dancing people, and nearly choked on her own breath upon seeing the strange woman's lips against the Horse-lord's. She blinked back to Faramir anxiously. "N-nothing."

"Alandria.."

"Who is that woman?"

The autumn-haired man's brows pulled together, but she pointed in answer. He turned to see where she gestured, then sighed and turned back. "Her name is Lothiriel. She is Imrahil's daughter."

"Oh." Elvish blood. Of course.

"She's dancing with Éomer.." Faramir noted after another glance. "Is that why you ran out?" Alandria didn't answer, shifting and watching the Horse-lord and Princess begin another dance. Together. "Alandria?"

"Yes." She answered idly. "I just..it's foolish but..I couldn't help but... Imrahil's daughter, you say?"

"Yes."

"Is she...is she wed?"

Faramir hesitated. "..no." Alandria stared up at him, hearing the words he wasn't saying. The young man struggled silently for a moment, then sighed in defeat under Alandria's stare. "Imrahil is actually looking to marry her. But that doesn't mea-" He quickly tried to make up for what he'd just revealed, but Alandria was already stepping away.

"So she's looking for a husband?"

"Alandria, that doesn't mean she-...Éomer is only being political...this doesn't-"

Alandria didn't hear the Steward. She stared once more at the tall, strong, handsome Horse-lord and the tall, thin, unchallengably beautiful Princess. Rationality dropped away, giving to fear and jealousy. She turned on her heel and fled the bright courtyard.

* * *

She'd never been in the gardens at the House of Healing at night before. You couldn't see anything at night - not the plants and flowers, not the land that stretched out before the city. But right then, that was what she wanted - to be blind to everything around her. She stumbled through the grassy courtyard, fiery pain flaring and curses flowing, the few torches around that were lit offering little useful light. She came to the parapet of the courtyard then, feeling the stone beneath her feet, and then beneath her palm as she reached out to touch the edge of the archway. She knew she faced the grand spanse of land that stretched eastward, but she could not see it. It only became darkness mere inches from where she stood.

Alandria shivered then, the dark night cool, especially away from the throng of people at the celebration. She could still hear it, even where she stood. And she could still see Éomer and Imrahil's daughter, dancing together. The same feelings of fear and jealousy struck her again. Part of her knew she was overreacting, and being irrational. Just because Éomer was dancing with a beautiful woman did not mean he was going to marry her. But a larger of part of her preferred the irrationality, and even had some sense to it. Imrahil was looking to marry Lothiriel, surely now more urgently than before since the end of the world was just narrowly prolonged. Éomer is the only heir to the throne, with Théodred dead, and now that Théoden too was dead, the throne was his. He would need a queen. Despite whatever fantasies Alandria may have entertained herself with, sense and politics demanded Éomer marry Lothiriel. She was beautiful enough, Alandria reminded herself, that it was doubtful Éomer would need much encouragement. Then there was the kiss. _The kiss._ She thought she knew Éomer well enough to count on him to never pull something so..uncivilized, and betraying. Had it been instigated purely by Lothiriel? Or had Éomer just not been able to help himself? The fear became stronger than the jealousy now. Alandria leaned against the pillar of the stone arch and closed her eyes, resting her head in her hand to hide the lashes that glittered with frustrated tears.

"Alandria?"

Alandria dropped her hand. Damnit. She didn't move from her place in the arch though, refusing to acknowledge the man.

"I know you're out here. Alandria, please."

She didn't reply. She could hear his footsteps, and then noticed a faint light moving behind her - he had picked up a torch. The light became brighter, illuminating more of the courtyard and bringing Alandria more into view. Finally it stopped moving, and she heard it fall gently into a holder on the arch near her. Still she said nothing.

"Alandria, what are you doing out here?" Faramir asked gently, stepping to her side.

"Trying to be alone."

He ignored her comment. "Why did you run off like that? Éomer and Lothiriel were only-"

"Don't, Faramir," she sighed, "Don't try to explain for them."

"I'm not explaining for them, Alandria, only trying to help you."

"Well thank you, but I'm alright."

He smiled faintly. "I can't say I believe you."

"Believe what you wish."

Faramir sighed and shifted. "Alandria, Éomer will never marry Lothiriel." Alandria glanced sharply at the Steward, unnerved by his perception. He merely nodded slightly at her look, handsome features somber. "I know that's what you were thinking. He'll be King soon, and need a Queen; Lothiriel is looking to marry...admittedly, it makes sense. But it will never happen."

"You don't know that." Alandria whispered, looking into the darkness again.

"I do."

"You don't!" She snapped, whirling away and striding towards the fountain at the center of the courtyard. It spilled water now, but instead of sounding cheerful, it just sounded cold. "A King must marry one of his social standing, or as near to it as can be, yes? Do you think a deceased Rider's daughter qualifies for that? Or the beautiful daughter of a Prince?"

"I think the one he loves qualifies better than any other."

Alandria scoffed, turning away from the Steward again. "Why are you here, Faramir?"

"Do you want me gone?"

"Why are you here?" She repeated. "My emotional problems are none of your concern."

Faramir flinched slightly, but she didn't see it. "You loved my brother." He answered softly, voice low and careful. "I beg your pardon if I feel somewhat...indebted, because you were the last one to see - and know - him alive."

Alandria paused, and turned slowly to face the Steward again. His head was lowered, his dark gaze on the ground. "I'm sorry, Faramir." She replied softly. "I..I forget."

"Forget he was my brother?"

A smiled flickered at the edge of her mouth. "No, forget what he meant to..to the both of us."

Faramir lifted his head, gazing intently into her eyes. She was struck again with the resemblance he bore to his older brother, and sorrowed by it too. "Do you ever forget him, Alandria?"

She paused, thinking a moment, before carefully answering. "Sometimes, I think I do. More so of late than ever before. Shouldn't I though? After all this time..."

"Yes, you should. And I'm not saying forgetting him sometimes is a bad thing - quite the contrary." He stepped closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "My point, Alandria, is this - your instinctive competition with Lothiriel? I think Éomer may feel the same thing with Boromir."

Alandria was confused. "But...Boromir's dead. And Éomer knows-"

But Faramir was shaking his head. "That's not it. Boromir is dead. But, for the longest time, you wouldn't let him go." Alandria opened her mouth in surprise to ask just how Faramir knew this, but he shook her question away. "Éowyn." He replied, and Alandria remained quiet in confused silence. "How is Éomer supposed to know if youv'e let Boromir go now or not? Do you not wonder if he's just as worried of being second as you are?"

He quieted then, giving Alandria room to talk, but she did not take it. She only furrowed her brow and focused on the ground, her mind churning with thought. Faramir removed his comforting hand then, and watched her think for a moment more.

"I'm going to go tell Éomer where you are.. I think it's for the best." He stepped away, glancing at her once more, and then quietly left.

Alandria walked slowly back to her place on the parapet, thinking still, knowing Faramir had warned her of what he was going to do so that she could leave and avoid Éomer if she wished, but choosing to stay.

She was alone for longer than she expected, and in the lonliness found herself wondering if Éomer would even bother to leave Lothiriel's side for her. Surely the Princess would give him less trouble than Alandria had so far. Surely she did not have such issues. Bootsteps sounded then, and her body unconsciously tensed at the man's approach. She heard him stop just barely behind her.

"Alandria?" He breathed, deep, thick voice soothing her tense muscles. "Faramir told me you were out here... Why did you leave the celebration? Are you alright?" He paused, and when she found nothing to say, spoke again. "Alandria, Faramir sounded concerned - are you alright, love?" He grasped her arm then, and turned her carefully around.

Alandria faced the tall man uneasily, a hundred different thoughts running through her mind. She couldn't meet his gaze, not his innocent, confused ebony gaze. Finally, she blurted the only thing she could think at that moment: "Do you think she's beautiful? Lothiriel, I mean."

Éomer was taken aback, this certainly not what he had expected the Lady-Rider to ask. "Lothiriel? Imrahil's daughter?"

"I only know of one Lothiriel."

"What does she hav-"

"Answer, Éomer. Please."

His brow furrowed, as he tried to figure out where this was going. "She's pretty enough, I suppose."

"She's beautiful, just say it." Alandria growled, frustration - not at Éomer, but at herself - building up as she mentally compared herself to the Princess. It was no competition.

"Alandria, what is this about?"

"Lady Arwen is beautiful too, isn't she? More so than Lothiriel even, I think." Alandria continued, pacing slowly away from the confused Horse-lord.

"Alandria-"

"Lothiriel is good enough to be Queen, don't you think? I mean, she's clearly beautiful enough. I bet she's intelligent enough. And being of nobility from Dol Amroth, surely it's a very wise move politically.." She had come back to the fountain in the center of the courtyard, and stared down at the churning pool of water at its base. She watched Éomer's reflection appear behind her.

"Alandria, you're worrying me. What does it concern you if Lothiriel would make a good queen?"

"Plenty!" She cried, whirling on the man. "Don't you get it, Éomer? You're the new King of Rohan - you need a Queen. Lothiriel is a Princess, who is looking to be married. It just makes sense, Éomer!"

"If you're implicating that I would marry Lothiriel, you're terribly wrong, A-"

"I'm not _implicating_ anything! I saw you with her!"

"What, the dancing? Pardon me, but you were dancing with other men as well!" Éomer snapped back, his short temper finally flared by Alandria's behavior.

"That's...different!"

"The hell it is! It's exactly the same! So you think I'm the only criminal here?"

"I only danced with them! And they were both _trustworthy _men that we both know!"

"Oh, so just because Lothiriel is a stranger, it's forbidden to dance with her? Do you really think I would have acted like this if you'd danced with some random Gondorian soldier?"

"I wouldn't have!"

"You don't know that!"

"I wouldn't have done anything with them, at least!"

"Oh, so what have I done, Alandria? What have I _possibly _done to earn your damned temper again?"

"_I saw you kissing her!_" Alandria burst, hot, angry tears smudging her vision, blinding her to seeing Éomer pale at her words. "I'm not a fool, Éomer. I know you should marry Lothiriel, for the best of everyone. I know I can't compare next to her. I just...I didn't..."

"No, Alandria, you're wrong." Éomer pleaded, taking a step forward. "I didn't kiss her. She kissed me, while we were dancing. It was quick, and sudden, and caught me off guard..but it was only a second, Alandria! And then I _politely_ told her not do that again and get the hell away from me, and tried to find you. But you were gone.." He took another step forward, reaching out to touch her with pleading eyes, but she moved away. "Alandria, please, you must believe me. I would never choose Lothiriel over you."

"Don't even try that." She whispered harshly, shaking her head. "She's beautiful. You can't tell me you would never choose her if you had the opportunity."

"If I had the opportunity, yes. But, Alandria," He lunged forward once more, grabbing ahold of Alandria's wrist and pulling her forcefully towards him. His expression was gentle, sad and worried, even though he held firm. "I am with you, and so there is no opportunity." He paused, staring desperately into her eyes. Finally he spoke, his thick voice low and husky, "_Alandria, ic lufie pé*._"

She stared at him, hardly daring to breathe. Anger and fear disappeared. Her emerald eyes bore into his dark hazel ones, searching. "...what?" She finally breathed.

He didn't answer with words, merely pulled her closer, and leaned down for a kiss. It was the gentlest kiss they'd ever shared, but expressed more than any before. Alandria leaned into the strong warmth of Éomer's chest, her hands flat against his broad shoulders. He wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her flush against him, and his other hand gently carressed her cheek. His lips moved tenderly with hers, and as his hand slid around to cradle her throat, he slowly hinted for permission to pass his tongue through her lips. Alandria gave it blindly, willingly, and then their tongues danced slowly together. Éomer sighed into her, his calloused fingers nestling in her hair, his lips and tongue passionately claiming hers. Alandria made a soft sound much like a whimper then, causing the Lord to break their kiss. Still he held close to her, breathing heavily, and gazed down at her with passionate ebony eyes.

"_Ic lufie pé*."_ He whispered again, and Alandria whimpered once more, closing her eyes and tilting her head up to nestle into the man's cheek.

"_Ic lufie pé éac*."_ She murmured through the tears in her eyes, then clasped her hands around his neck and kissed him again. She could taste his breath and the ale he'd drunk, mixed with the mead she'd had and the faint tinge of salt from her frustrated tears from before. Again their tongues wove together, deep and passionate, elicting soft sighs from them both.

Éomer allowed their mouths to express their feelings for only a short moment more, before breaking away again with a sigh. He stared deeply into Alandria's hazy-eyes again, smiling faintly. "Rohan does need a queen, Alandria. I meant to ask this sooner but..but things kept happening and I..." He gently trailed his rough fingertips down the side of her face, smiling a little more as her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. "Alandria," he murmured, and her eyes opened in response. "I would have you be that queen."

She stared at him, a slow, tender smile growing on her features. "If you wish it, my lord," She raised up slightly on her toes, pulling his face down towards her as well, and gently pressed her lips to his cheek, before whispering softly in his ear, "My love."

Éomer smiled warmly then, and pulled her close for another kiss.

* * *

** * - _ic lufie pe_, in case it's not obvious, is Old English for "I love you" :) The "_eac_" just means "too"**


	29. Something Happier

**Heylo, everyone. Finally another chapter. I apologize yet again for how long this story is becoming, and only pray you all aren't feeling it's as tedious as I believe! But we _are_ nearing the end! :) In this chapter I've got a couple poems/songs from the actual novels, so that credit definitely goes to Tolkien - of course - and I wouldn't blame any of you for skimming/skipping over them; although the third one is in fact my own making. I'm not very good :/ I hope you enjoy nonetheless!**

**P.S. I don't ever do this, but just a side-note for anyone reading this: if you haven't seen the film Inception, I recommend it more than almost anything. It's a masterpiece! Truly. **

**Ta-ta-for-now**

* * *

Alandria pressed closer to the Lord's firm chest, her hands clasped firmly in his own, and smiled nervously up at him once he let her breathe. Her emerald eyes searched through his dark hazel ones, finding only comfort and assurance and _love_. Something pricked at the back of her mind though, and the doubt it created reflected onto her features.

"Alandria? What's wrong?" Éomer asked gently, raising a hand to gently cradle her face.

"You..you ask me to be your queen, Éomer, but the law..." Still his dark brows furrowed in confusion, and she sighed at his density. "The law, Éomer: those of the noble lineage must marry those others of noble lineage." She shifted, gazing up at his understanding expression with fear, her next words only a whisper, "I am not of any such noble lineage."

Éomer was silent for a moment, caught off guard by her sudden sense, and his silence further worried Alandria. His warm gaze grew nervous as his eyes flew from hers, flitting around from place to place as he rashly thought. "It does not matter, we will still marry. You will be my queen, Alandria, I prom-"

"But how can that be? It is against the laws, Éomer!"

He thought again, still holding firm to her. "I am to be King, I will override the law!" Alandria looked doubtful, but he seemed earnest now. "The Fourth Age is to be beginning. A new Age, a new King, and Rohan intact after coming so close to destruction? The people will expect new laws, and many changes. Who's to say we cannot change this law?"

"Éomer-"

"It will work, Alandria." He insisted, dark eyes burned with determination. "I will have you to be my wife, that I promise. It will happen as soon as it can. Within less of a week of our return!"

He seemed thrilled with the idea, and Alandria could not deny the excitement she too felt. Doubt still lingered, and the nervous fear of what being a wife and a queen would bring, and the anxiety of telling the others...- the others.

"Éomer," she started pulling away from him. "we ought to return, don't you think? I know Faramir was concerned-" Her heart warmed at the thought of the kind Steward, "-and the longer we are gone, the worse it appears. I think we should go back."

The Horse-lord seemed reluctant to let her go, but hesitantly agreed, nodding. "Yes. It's getting late as well...the celebration is likely near over."

She untangled herself from his arms, but then took his rough hand in hers with a small smile. "Come then, let's go back to them and enjoy the rest of the night together."

"Do you wish to tell them...?"

Éomer didn't have to explain for Alandria to understand. She shrugged as they slowly began to walk back towards the celebrating company. "Most of them likely already suspect, and they're all intelligent enough to figure it out for themselves... I don't know. Do you think we should?"

"It's for you to determine, love. They likely will figure it out, and if they ask, then we can explain in a reply."

"Sounds decent enough to me."

Éomer merely smiled down at her in reply, and squeezed her hand tighter.

Soon they came upon their company again, scattered about the courtyard, which was considerably more empty than it had been. The flower petals that had been danced upon were scarce as servants shuffled about, cleaning them up, and Alandria could see the bustle of cleaning-activity in the light of the Hall.

"Has the celebration broken up already?" She asked.

Merry, casually standing a couple yards away and talking with his three fellow hobbits, looked up in reply. "Aye milady. You've been gone for a while y'know."

"Where'd you go anyway?" Pippin spoke up.

Alandria shrugged. "Just needed some air."

"Well there's plenty of that now, I assure you." Merry replied with a smile.

"Alandria." She turned at the soft voice that spoke her name. Aragorn had appeared, in less formal clothing, and with Arwen at his side. He smiled faintly, kindly. "Where have you been? I lost sight of you over an hour ago."

"I just went for a walk."

The King's turquoise eyes steadily drifted to the tall, golden-haired man at her side, and then just as casually back to her. "I see. Well things have just begun to settle, and I was going to see if you all," he nodded around at the entire gathered group of the hobbits, Gimli, Legolas, Faramir, Éowyn, Éomer, and Alandria, "would mind joining the Queen and I for a quiet talk. Or, more likely, just to sit and enjoy each other's company." He smiled warmly, and all those present nodded in consent.

Frodo glanced around though, faint worry on his young features. "Where is Gandalf?" He asked softly.

"Right here, my lad." The ancient Wizard rumbled in reply, striding slowly out of the Hall and into their company. "I shall join you all."

"We would not have it otherwise, my friend." Aragorn allowed with a smile. "I hope you all will not mind if we commence our gathering in the Gardens of Healing? I hear it is quite lovely there, whether in day or night."

"You hear correct, my lord." Alandria replied and he smiled again.

"Excellent." He strode off then, Arwen on his arm, and the company following loyally behind. They very soon arrived back in the Gardens, and, after having the several torches lit, Aragorn gestured gracefully to the open grass and stone benches scattered about before them. The company settled themselves about: Legolas resting on the grass with his legs crossed neatly before him, Gimli on a bench resting his back against the stone wall, Faramir and Éowyn close side by side on a separate bench, Gandalf standing beside the walls and looking out across the land in thought, Merry and Pippin sprawled out casually on the grass, Frodo on the small bench near Gandalf, Sam on the ground at his feet, Aragorn and Arwen settled neatly on the edge of the fountain, Éomer standing tall against a stone archway, and Alandria lying on her side near Pippin and Merry.

As soon as they were all comfortable, the pairs spoke to their own companions, or chose to stay silent. Frodo, Sam, and Gandalf for instance remained quiet and still. Aragorn and Arwen to each other in quiet tones of elvish words. Legolas made idle comments to Gimli, who returned the words with rough grumbles. Eowyn sat close to Faramir, her hand in his, yet they were quiet. Éomer too was silent. Alandria was forced into chatting heartily with Merry and Pippin, who both inspired conversation simply with their warm dispositions. They never ceased to find some story of their days in the Shire that they hadn't yet told her, and amusement passed time quickly. Alandria's laugh at one of Pippin's stories was just fading when a throat being cleared called all of them to attention. Everyone looked immediately to Aragorn, but his features expressed that it was not him who had called their attention. Alandria then looked to Faramir, and saw Éowyn looking expectantly up at him. Everyone else did the same. The young man flushed faintly from the attention, and then smiled faintly, nervously.

"I-..we...have an announcement to make, if you do not mind." No one said a word, and he looked uncomfortably at Éowyn. She turned to face the audience before them, her dark blue eyes firm and features calm.

"We are betrothed." She announced.

Astounded silence answered her blunt words. Alandria smiled faintly as she looked between the Steward and the Lady, as she was unsurprised. They had spent so much time in each other's company, had grown so close, that this news was not unexpected to her ears. The others though were quite taken aback - especially her brother.

"_Betrothed?_" Éomer choked out after another moment of silence. His dark eyes were wide, his brows drawn together in bewilderment, and his mouth gaped slightly open. Alandria had to stifle a giggle.

"Surely you have not been completely blind to their company for the past days?" She teased him.

The tall man struggled for words for a moment, before finally only stuttering out, "Well, n-no but..but betrothed? So..so soon?"

"You forget, brother," Éowyn spoke up again. "that Lord Faramir and I have had the honor of each other's company for a fortnight longer than we've had any of yours'. In that fortnight I, at least, found within me a love for him." She looked modestly to the man at her side, a faint smile on her features. "I am led to believe he feels the same."

"Éowyn, I have loved you since first I saw you, standing alone in these very Gardens." He replied tenderly, and Alandria ducked her head in embarrasement towards their intimate words. They, however, seemed unphased. Faramir turned to face their audience again, his features more confident now. "So, indeed, I asked her hand for marriage. There is no father nor uncle left to give consent so..." Here the young man's dark eyes turned cautiously to Éomer's - more controlled - features. "we look to her brother for an answer."

Everyone's attention immediately turned to Éomer, and Alandria quickly hid a slight smile towards the change of events that had occured in the evening so far. She watched Éomer now, just as intently as everyone else, and he shifted uneasily under the pressure of their stares. Wide, dark eyes flicked carefully around to each person's face, before slowing to study the face of the rust-haired Steward. Faramir met the man's gaze quite evenly, patiently waiting for a reply. The hazel eyes moved to the pale features of Éowyn then and she held her head higher, prouder. Éomer looked at her half as long as he stared at Faramir, and once done, returned quickly to Faramir. A heartbeat later, and a slow, soft smile grew on the Horse-lord's features.

"What reason could I ever find to refuse this? Lord Faramir, consider yourself a blessed man to have the hand of such a valiant, honorable woman."

A radiant smile unlike any Alandria had yet seen burst on the face of the White Lady, and she laughed heartily. Faramir smiled warmly as well, though admittedly not as brightly as his new bride. Éowyn threw herself at Faramir, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing him thoroughly. The timid man returned her kiss considerably more gently, and they broke apart as Éowyn smiled again. She turned to her brother then, and leapt up to run the few steps into his embrace, hugging him tightly. Éomer chuckled warmly, and then set her down with a kind smile. She turned back to Faramir, whom had risen to join her and Éomer, and kissed him again. Éomer took this moment to look over and meet Alandria's gaze. She knew what he was thinking as his dark hazel eyes locked on to her, and she shook her head the slightest bit. Now was not the time. Not yet. He merely smiled faintly for a reply, and turned his attention back to Éowyn, who was alarmingly ecstatic with joy.

Alandria turned at movement to her right, and watched as Aragorn rose from his seat beside Arwen. The simple movement of him rising was enough to quiet Éowyn, Faramir and Éomer, as the King claimed his rightful attention. His smiled warmly at the newly betrothed couple, and bowed modestly to them both. They each returned it obediently, but Aragorn waved away their gestures. "I will not deny that I am surprised, nor will I deny how happy I am for the both of you. Éowyn," he turned his pale gaze towards the lady, "You could not have found a more intelligent, dependable and kind man then the one you have chosen. Faramir," now he turned to his Steward, "A Prince needs a Princess beside him, and I assure you that you could not have found one stronger or more equipped for the duty. Ithilien will suit her well." He smiled again, and opened his mouth to speak once more, but Alandria had to interrupt.

"Prince?" She echoed in confusion, and changed from her position of still lying on the ground to sit expectantly. "Princess?" She looked from Aragorn to Faramir and Éowyn in bewilderment. "I don't understand."

Aragorn's dark brows pulled together slightly in confusion. "You don't? At the celebration..I declared Far-"

"That must have been - I aplogize, my lord, for the interruption - when you ran to retrieve more ale for the tables." Faramir quickly cut in, staring meaningfully at Alandria.

Still confused, she slowly nodded. "Yes..I suppose it must have.."

"Oh." Aragorn hesitantly accepted the Steward's improvised lie. "Well then, I shall explain. At the celebration I declared Faramir Prince of Ithilien, for he has earned himself a rank far higher than Steward. And since the rank of King is now unavailable," he smiled gently at the others' chuckles, "I offered him reign over Ithilien."

Alandria looked back towards Faramir in surprise. "That's fantastic. Faramir loves Ithilien. Borom-" She stopped short, and after a careful breath, continued on in a quieter voice. "Boromir told me plenty of times how much you love it." She looked to the gentle man now with a faint smile. "I heard many stories about your always disappearing off to its woods when work was called for, or your father-...when things got difficult."

Faramir didn't seem the least bit bothered by any of the information, and merely smiled just as warmly as he had been - even warmer, perhaps. "My brother was not wrong. I do love it there. And so I thank you, yet again, Lord Aragorn, for bestowing this honor upon me. And I thank you, Lord Éomer, for granting me the greatest happiness I could dream of having." He looked down at the golden-haired lady at his side, taking her hand in his, and smiling tenderly.

Aragorn gently interrupted as he stepped further forward, offering with a smile his further congratulations. Merry and Pippin merely cheered their congrats from their comfortable places on the ground, and Alandria faintly heard Frodo and Sam politely offer the same. Éomer then joined those standing to offer his hand to Faramir with a stern smile, and then to speak kindly to his sister. Alandria climbed to her feet then as Éomer and Aragorn spoke with Éowyn, and made her way over to the autumn-haired Steward that was standing off to the side.

"Congratulations." She said softly, smiling faintly up at the man.

He reflected her expression, and nodded politely. "Thank you."

"I'm happy for you." She stated. "Honestly. Éowyn was so utterly in love with Aragorn - if you will pardon me saying - that I was sure she would never be able to love another. I'm glad she chose you; you needed someone like her to love you. Again, if you don't mind my saying so."

Faramir gazed down at Alandria thoughtfully, the wisp of a smile on his handsome features. "I certainly do not mind you saying so, Alandria." He glanced back up and over at Éowyn, Éomer, and Aragorn for a moment, and then satisfied that they were not paying attention, gently led Alandria a couple steps away by her elbow. When he faced her again, his kind features were serious, and thoughtful. "From the day I first met you, you seemed to know more about me than I could have expected. It was unnerving, really, how much you had figured of me from my brother. Over the many days we spent together in the Houses of Healing I got to know you fairly well, Alandria, and so now I would like to ask you - have you finally given up my brother for your Rohan Lord?"

Alandria hesitated at the unexpected onslaught of words from the young man, and tried to search into his words to discover some possible alterior meaning. She found none however, none other than the concern for her that shone through his warm blue eyes. She stared back up at him and answered as honestly as she could: "As much as I can, yes." His brows pulled slightly together in an unspoken question, which she readily answered. "Faramir, your brother was the first man I ever truly loved. Because of that, and the fact that I was unfortunate enough to see him die while I still loved him, I will _never_ stop loving him. But I _do_ love Éomer - more than I thought I could ever love again. And so although I have not given up Boromir, and never will, I have given him up as much as I can."

Faramir nodded in his calm understanding, but the faintest confusion still traced his features as he glanced up once more at the other group, who were still immersed in conversation. "So," he softly began, as his gaze fell back down to her, "does this mean you and the Lord Éomer are to wed as well?"

"Yes." Alandria answered immediately, then caught herself and paused, before slowly adding, "Eventually."

"Eventually?"

"When we get back to Rohan would likely be a more appropriate time." She replied with a soft smile.

Faramir returned it warmly. "Of course. How come you have not announced it then? After Éowyn and I?"

Alandria shrugged slightly. "Now does not feel like the time. And I don't want to steal the joy from you too."

"Alandria," Faramir smiled slightly wider now, "trust me, we would not mind."

Alandria, however, still shook her head. "No, not right now. You know, and that is enough." She paused, and then gazed earnestly into the kind man's deep eyes. "Will you come to the wedding? It'll be way out in Edoras, but will you come?"

"Absolutely." Faramir nodded firmly. "I would love to."

Alandria smiled again. "Excellent." She glanced away then, and sighed heavily. "I can't wait until we can get back home..."

She was interrupted just then, as Aragorn, Éowyn, and Éomer's conversation seemed to have closed.

"It's late; I think I shall retire." Éowyn announced. "Thank you all for the company." She smiled gently, and the others each said their goodnights. She glanced at Alandria for a moment, before turning and quietly walking away.

"I think I shall go too." Faramir said then, bowing low to his King and Queen. "It has been a very busy day.

"Indeed it has. Goodnight, Faramir." Aragorn replied.

"Goodnight Faramir," Alandria called. "Dream peacefully."

The noble-faced young man smiled at her, and bowed. "Aye, thank you milady. You as well." He turned to Éomer then, and politely bowed again. "And to you, lord."

Éomer nodded formally back in reply.

Faramir too then faded away into the darkness, and silence fell. Alandria gazed at Éomer for a momet, before sighing softly and returning to her place on the grass with Merry and Pippin. The silence began to feel heavy, causing unease to drop upon the remaining company. Frodo and Sam could be heard murmuring faintly from their place by Gandalf, but otherwise there was no sound.

"Merry, Pippin," Alandria gently called their attention. "The quiet seems ill-fitting for the present time. Have you perhaps got any music to entertain us with?"

Both the hobbits grinned widely, thrilled at Alandria's suggestion - they were bored in the still peacefullness in the Garden. "Absolutely!" Pippin chirped, as they both scarmbled to their feet.

"There's some instruments back in the Hall - we'll be right back!" Merry briefly exclaimed, and then they dashed off.

Alandria smiled at their retreating figures, and then called over to Sam. "Master Samwise! Would you mind providing us with some poetry to Merry and Pippin's music? I miss the sweetness of hobbit-rhymes and tunes. Now I think it shall be quite a comfort."

Sam looked over at her with his wide, gold-green eyes, then glanced up at Frodo for a moment before nodding. "Aye milady, I can do that." He stood up then, and shuffled nervously closer to where Alandria lay, and Aragorn and Arwen sat.

Alandria smiled reassuringly up at the little hobbit, and was deaf to the soft padding of feet until a voice spoke from very near. "Alandria?" She turned awkwardly to look up at the man that had spoken, and then abruptly jumped back up to her feet. She then stood appropriately face-to-face with her betrothed, smiling faintly. He returned the smile, and glanced over at Sam and Frodo for a second, before turning his dark eyes back to her. "I feel I should let you all alone."

"You can stay, it-"

But Éomer shook his head with a kind smile. "This time is for the Fellowship, I think."

"No, we're-"

"You haven't seen each other, together, in weeks." He interrupted again. "And these past days have been very busy. Now you finally have sometime to be together, in peace. I think I shall follow Faramir and Éowyn's examples, and retire as well." He smiled warmly down at Alandria again, as his rough hand reached for hers. His gaze lifted though just before he touched her, and he quickly took in the other company around them, and dropped his hand. His smile turned apologetic, and Alandria, although somewhat offended, weakly returned it in understanding.

"Goodnight then, Éomer."

"Goodnight Alandria. See you in the morning." His eyes flooded with the intimate words he could not now express, and he merely bowed formally. He turned then to the other company, bowing more stiffly and not as deeply. "It is late, and I too am weary from the activities of the day. Goodnight to you all." A chorus of "goodnight"s echoed the Horse-lord, and with another brief smile at Alandria, he quietly left, just as Merry and Pippin came bursting back into the Garden.

Pippin had found a small, mandolin-like instrument, while Merry took claim of a little wooden flute. After proudly showing their finds to Alandria, the to took a couple moments to play random notes and short tunes out on the instruments, to get a feel for the devices.

"Alandria, what have you gotten us into?" Legolas chuckled, smiling warmly at Alandria.

She laughed lightly back. "Patience, Legolas. I think we're all in need of some hobbit-tunes, don't you?"

"I, for one, could not possibly argue that point, my dear." Gandalf joined in, stepping closer, Frodo and Sam trailing behind.

Soon Alandria, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, and Sam all sat around in a large circle, which blended at one point into the fountain, on the edge of which Aragorn and Arwen still peacefully sat. Gandalf stood leaning on a pillar nearby, his body too ancient and weary for sitting on the ground. Merry and Pippin stood proudly and excitedly in the center of the ring, their instruments in hand and smiles on their cheerful faces. With a shared glance, the two began to play in time. The first song was - as expected - rather bright and cheerful, Merry using the higher and sharper notes of the flute, and Pippin strummed quickly and merrily along. Sam took a moment to find the feel of his friends' improvisation, and then nervously opened his mouth for poetry:

"Upon the hearth the fire is red,

Beneath the roof there is a bed;

But not yet weary are our feet,

Still round the corner we may meet

A sudden tree or standing stone

That none have seen but we alone.

Tree and flower and leaf and grass,

Let them pass! Let them pass!

Hill and water under sky,

Pass them by! Pass them by!

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate,

And though we pass them by today,

Tomorrow we may come this way

And take the hidden paths that run

Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,

Let them go! Let them go!

Sand and stone and pool and dell,

Fare you well! Fare you well!

Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

Then world behind and home ahead,

We'll wander back to home and bed.

Mist and twilgiht, cloud and shade,

Away shall fade! Away shall fade!

Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,

And then to bed! And then to bed!"

Sam finalized the end of the poem with a flush and bow of his head, to the smiles and gently applause of the company around him. Merry and Pippin kept playing however, merely adjusting their tune, still keeping it light and chipper. Sam took another breath, and began again.

"Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,  
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;  
For many a year he had gnawed it near,  
For meat was hard to come by.  
Done by! Gum by!  
In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,  
And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.  
Said he to Troll: 'Pray, what is yon?  
For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim.  
As should be a-lyin' in the graveyard.  
Caveyard! Paveyard!  
This many a year has Tim been gone,  
And I thought he were lyin' in the graveyard.'

'My lad,' said Troll, 'this bone I stole.  
But what be bones that lie in a hole?  
Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o' lead,  
Afore I found his shinbone.  
Tinbone! Skinbone!  
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,  
For he don't need his shinbone.'

Said Tom: 'I don't see why the likes o' thee  
Without axin' leave should go makin' free  
With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;  
So hand the old bone over!  
Rover! Trover!  
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;  
So hand the old bone over!'

'For a couple o' pins,' says Troll, and grins,  
'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.  
A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet!  
I'll try my teeth on thee now.  
Hee now! See now!  
I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and skins;  
I've a mind to dine on thee now.'

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,  
He found his hands had hold of naught.  
Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind  
And gave him the boot to larn him.  
Warn him! Darn him!  
A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought,  
Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone  
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.  
As well set your boot to the mountain's root,  
For the seat of a troll don't feel it.  
Peel it! Heal it!  
Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,  
And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom's leg is game, since home he came,  
And his bootless foot is lasting lame;  
But Troll don't care, and he's still there  
With the bone he boned from its owner.  
Doner! Boner!  
Troll's old seat is still the same,  
And the bone he boned from its owner!"

As the second poem came to an end, Frodo rose with a yawn. "I think I shall now retire. As fun as this has all been," he smiled kindly at his fellow hobbits, "it has been a long day, and I am weary. Goodnight to you all." Everyone bade Frodo goodnight as well, then as he began to slowly walk away, Sam glanced hesitatingly towards his master.

"Um, if you don't mind Lady Alandria, I think I ought to be off too. I'tis late, after all."

Alandria smiled faintly and chuckled. "Of course, Sam. I wouldn't want to hold you here against your will."

The stout hobbit flushed again, bowed, and muttered thanks. "Er, g'night Strid- Aragorn, lord. And t'you, Lady." He bowed to Aragorn and Arwen as well, then muttered another flustered goodnight to the rest of the party and scurried after his master.

Alandria sighed and down on her back then, looking up towards the dark sky. "Well that was quick."

"We don't 'ave to stop playin', do we Alandria?" She heard Pippin ask, and smiled.

"No, Pip. You can keep playing."

"Excellent, thank you. And can we sing?"

She chuckled again. "Of course, Pippin." She heard a little chirp of cheer, and then the little madolin-like instrument the hobbit had found began to play again. The chords this time, however, were not as light and cheerful as before. They came slower, steadier, and when Merry joined in a moment later, the melody of his flute was lower and more melancholy than before:

"We've traveled on with weary feet

'Till all paths seem the same

Our end, at last, we've come to meet

And from whence we are, we can 'ardly name

We remember long grass in golden fields

Mugs of brown ale and goodly meals

Clear, cold streams and a trickling brook

Or beside the fire with a heavy book

Mountains high, against skies so clear

Forests deep, rivers wide, and creatures vile.

Perils once far never seemed so near

We've been gone from home much more than our while.

Home, home, where did home go?

Beyond the spring flowers and winter's snow.

We've come to lands and peoples not our own

Now maybe's the time, now is the time, to go home.."

It was moment before Alandria realized her eyes had filled with water, threatening to spill down her cheeks. She took a shaky breath, blinking away the visions before her: visions of feet trekking across leagues and leagues of land; of battles, with Men and Orcs alike both victorious and slain; then of open, rolling grasslands to ride freely across; a city seated snugly atop a grand hill, a great Hall made of wood and warm gold perched at it's peak; visions of a home she had been away from for far too long, a home that, when she finally returned to it, she would have a greater place in than she could have ever believed. Alandria's painful longing for Rohan and Edoras, and the walls of Meduseld, was far deeper than she'd realized. For too many weeks had she traveled leagues away from her country, in strange lands with stranger people, experiencing both joys and horrors beyond her dreams. The Quest of the Fellowship, and for the Ring, had been great, yes, but now it was over - and she wanted to go home.

"Our packs are empty and our company less

Our shoulders are tired and our wills beaten

We wait to return, to our lands in the West-"

"Pippin," she finally interrupted, swallowing more clouding tears, "something different, please. Sing something different. Something about hobbits, and the Shire, and green grass, and good food... Something happier."

There was a pause, and then a hesitant, "Aye, milady," as Pippin obeyed her curious suggestion. The next song was much more bright and cheerful, and no more tears of longing struck Alandria, but the thoughts were still there. She still wanted to be home, and with the tall Lord of Rohan beside her.


	30. Silly Fears

**This is another slow chapter, but one I don't feel a little guilty about writing lol. Just a filler, but I hope some of you let me know what you think of Eomer's demeanor...it seemed fitting to write in some of his worries in this chapter, but that's just how I feel he would react... Anyway - only a chapter or two more to go, and then we're done! :)**

**Cheers**

* * *

Little over a week later, she was home. After Pippin and Merry had entertained the company in the Gardens for a little while longer, they had all dispersed to their beds. The following morning Alandria had been immediately seeked by Éomer, and as they spoke leisurely together she brought to his attention her pining for Rohan. He admitted he felt the same, if not stronger, for he knew that many duties awaited him at the city and realm that was now under his rule. Éomer then immediately expressed his concerns for Rohan to Aragorn, and the busy King readily gave them leave. Éowyn insisted to come as well to aid her brother in organizing Edoras, reluctantly leaving Faramir behind to mind his own duties in Minas Tirith, but with a promise to return soon. Éomer, Éowyn, and Alandria then quickly gathered together what Riders were left and rode from the White City. Their travel was quick and unhindered; a handful of retreating orcs were seen in total, and the creatures fled at the mere sight of the group of Rohirrim. The weather was pleasant, it being the earliest days of May, and the trip was made in little less than a week, as they took much more leisurely means of arriving than when they had ridden to the aid of Gondor.

The company did not even halt their riding as they came upon the City on the Hill, and instead kept onward, riding through the open and waiting gates, into the welcoming arms of the city. Alandria found herself surprised that people still dwelt in Edoras, as if she had expected them to have disappeared with the changes that were overcoming Middle-earth. Yet nay, most of the women and children that had been left behind were still there, waiting with cries of joy and mingled sobs of sorrow at the losses: less than a thousand Riders returned from the six thousand that had ridden out - and many of them were from cities other than Edoras.

The Riders came to a halt before the steps of Meduseld, their numbers trailing down through the city, and Éomer, Éowyn, and Alandria dismounted. Éomer led the two women to the top steps of Meduseld, and then he turned to face the crowd that had gathered below him. The people could be see murming and whispering to each other, glancing from the scarce number of Riders to the tall young man that stood before them with confusion. Alandria knew they were looking for their King, refusing to believe the worst.

"People of Rohan!" Éomer called, his strong voice demanding their silence and attention. "I have a few short announcements to make, and then the Riders may disperse to their homes - this will not, however, be the last I have to say. Only for now." He paused, suddenly seeming ill-at-ease undernearth the townspeople's expectant stares. He shifted, glancing nervously behind him to Éowyn and Alandria, then turning back to face his people with a deep breath. "Sauron, the Dark Lord, is destroyed." A rush of noise from the crowd exploded out, but they died down as Éomer held up his hand for quiet. "He has been vanquished by the hobbit Frodo, who had the burden of the One Ring with him for miles, and traveled to the very heart of Mount Doom to cast it into the fires. There, it has been eaten by the volcano, and Sauron is no more." There was another rush of murmurs and mixed sounds of surprise and joy from the crowd, until Éomer called for quiet again.

"Gondor now has a King, as well. Many of you likely saw him when he was here - a mere Ranger, he looked. Travel-worn and hardy, but a King nonetheless. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and now rules Gondor and governs all the rest of Middle-earth. We are lucky to have such a King." Éomer swallowed, pausing again under nervousness, before hesitantly going on. "At the mention of a King, I now must tell you all what has befallen the country of Rohan in the midst of these other great happenings - King Théoden, my uncle dear as a father, has fallen on the Field of Pelennor, where we rode to Gondor's aid." Cries of dismay burst from the Lord's audience and he allowed them for a few moments, before raising his hand again. "He was taken by the Witch-King, Lord of the Nazgul. His death however is obviously," he glanced at the Riders before him, "not the only nor the least we have suffered, yet the time shall come later to grieve for them. The bodies of those who fell shall remain before Minas Tirith to become a landmark of one of the greatest stands and alleigances in the time of Middle-earth. The body of King Théoden, however, must be buried here, beside the tombs of his forefathers. You may have noticed at this point though that we do not carry the body with us; nay, I have left him at Gondor for the time being, until things here can be sorted. Then we shall ride once more to Minas Tirith, and bring the body of Théoden, son of Thengel, for proper burial."

Éomer quieted for a moment, and the people before him took the opportunity to talk quietly amongst themselves of all that they were hearing. Alandria caught bits of "That Ranger, a King?" and "Théoden dead? It's not possible!". There was even a group to her right that were quietly discussing whether or not Sauron actually was vanquished, or if this was all a hoax to put them at peace before the legions of Orcs came and killed them all. She listened with only slight annoyance, waiting for when Éomer would announce his right now to rule.

Finally the lord raised his hand for silence yet again, and it was quickly given. "My last announcement is one I am sure you have all figured out for your own at this point, so I shall make it brief: as Théoden, King of the Mark, has fallen, and his son fell weeks ago, I, Éomer, son of Éomund, sister-son to Théoden, am now the rightful heir. I am to take the throne in Meduseld, and rule Rohan as best as I may." Alandria smiled faintly, noticing how the man seemed uncomfortable with the notion of such a duty. "Yet I do not take the throne at this moment. Not until the Riders have been bidden home, and Théoden has been rightly put to rest, shall I take up my rule. Until then I am only a sort of Steward, and my sister Éowyn holds as much command as I." He paused, sternly and proudly gazing out at the people gathered around the Golden Hall, displaying to them with only a look what strength he had, and then he bowed. "Until later, that is all. Riders - those of other cities, feel free to stay and rest or depart for your homes. Those of Edoras, you are bidden to do likewise. The rest of the day shall be for resting and rejoining, until tomorrow morning, when those that have fallen are accounted for. Fare thee well." The lord bowed again, and with a nervous glance to Alandria and Éowyn, he retreated into Meduseld, both women following.

"Are you alright, Éomer?" Alandria asked as soon as they had passed through the front doors. She could understand Éomer's anxiety at commanding a city that he was used to only serving and protecting, but in his last glance she had seen fear.

He did not answer, striding instead to the throne at the end of the great Hall, and then halting before it. He stood with his back to his sister and Alandria, simply staring at the wooden throne before him. Both the women waited anxiously in the peculiar silence, until Éomer turned his head the slightest to acknowledge them. "Éowyn," he said, "can you please find some serving girls to prepare a meal for later? And find someone to gather a handful of men so we may prepare Théoden's tomb?"

Éowyn hesitated, still pondering her brother's curious behavior, before giving in and nodding. "Yes, m'lord."

"I'm only your brother, Éowyn." He corrected. "You need not use that title on me."

Éowyn said nothing, glancing meaningfully at Alandria as she quietly left to do her brother's bidding.

Once the Lady had left, Éomer stepped up to the throne he'd been gazing at. He reached forward, then hesitated with his hand still extended, as if he was pondering drawing it back. After a moment, however, he moved forward and his hand fall on the arm of the great chair. His fingers trailed across the dark wood almost tenderly.

"Éomer?" Alandria murmured, moving closer to him. "What is the matter?" He didn't answer, only drew his hand back from the chair and stood still, his back and shoulders straight and rigid. "You were uncomfortable before your people - but I understand that. Yet can you not explain the fear I saw?" She was at the steps now, and quietly padded up them until she stood just behind the tall Horse-lord. Tenderly, she placed her hand on his shoulder, gazing earnestly up at him. "What are you afraid of, _déore_?"

Éomer reach up to touch the hand that lay upon his shoulder, and he turned his head slightly in her direction. She could only see the one hazel eye, and it flicked from her, down to where their hands touched. "I was never supposed to be a King, Alandria. He had a son, and then that son should have had his own son, and so on - the throne was never supposed to come to me. I was supposed to forever serve the King, protect the Riddermark - not rule the entire country." His hand dropped from hers and he turned to face her. His handsome features were troubled, worry and fear still lurking in his dark eyes, his stern brows pulled together, furrowed in thought and concern. "Alandria, what if I can't rule Rohan? What if I fail my own country?"

Alandria merely smiled softly in return to his worries. She traced a hand down the side of his face, until she cradled underneath his jaw. "You worry too much." She whispered, smiling still, dropping her hand 'till it grasped his. "If you were not _supposed_ to be King, it never would have fallen to you. But it has - and so you shall rule over Rohan, and you shall rule just as greatly as Théoden ever did. You're not alone in this, Éomer," She took grasped his other hand as well, her earnest emerald eyes holding his hazel ones. "I shall be with you. I, and all others that will serve your court. You will not be alone, understood?"

He nodded, her words convicting and promising, and smiled slightly. He pulled her closer then, into his arms, and held her close. "How I ever got on without you, love, is beyond me." Alandria smiled, pressing her face deeper into his chest and sighing. He held her for many moments more, before deciding he ought to let go, lest they fall asleep in such a manner. He pulled her arms from around his waist and stepped back, smiling again. "Thank you, Alandria." He leaned down and kissed her briefly. "I'm sorry I have such silly fears."

She shrugged, smiling up at him. "I love you despite them." Her hand ran up his chest then, playing with the ties at the neck of his shirt. "But now, about that kiss you just gave... I think it was entirely too short.." She snuck a look up at him, smirking, and as soon as her eyes met his he dipped down for another kiss. Their mouths clashed at first, both powered with desire, having been robbed of any intimacy throughout their travelling from Gondor. After a moment though the reckless passion subsided, and they eased into a long, gentle kiss. Éomer held Alandria close, hands around her waist and keeping her body locked against his own. Alandria had one hand woven into his golden mane, and the other cradled around his neck gently. Their tongues wove slowly and tenderly together, keeping the gentle tenderness of their kiss passionate. Now and again Alandria would teasingly challenge Éomer for control of the kiss, and every time she did, he would pull her closer to his own strong body, and claim her mouth sternly with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

Alandria finally broke away with a giggle and a gasp, her chest heaving against Éomer. She teasingly eyed the lord from under her lashes, and smiled upon seeing his hazel eyes had darkened with desire. "I have a feeling, that might have been..the only time..we'll be able to do..that." She panted.

Éomer smiled slightly, kissing her briefly again on the forehead, before releasing her. "I feel you may be right. Now," He cleared his throat, straightened his tunic, and adjusted his bearing, before facing Alandria again. "Would you like to clean up? We've been on the road for quite a few days, and you're probably weary.. I know I need a wash."

"Well you're a smelly man, that's why." Alandria teased, and Éomer grinned.

"Perhaps. But you just kissed this smelly man, so now you smell too."

Alandria made a face in mock-disgust, and sighed. "I'll get a wash then. Do you suppose Lynwen is still here?"

Éomer shrugged. "I'm sorry to admit I don't know many of the house-staff by name, love."

"Ah well. I'll find out for myself then.." She began to wander off towards the servants quarters, but hesitated. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"I'll likely just talk to some of the staff about what has happened since I left, and then we'll have a meal with the surviving Riders that feel up to one, here, in the Hall. And then I'll take a few men and we'll dig Théoden's grave and prepare everything for the tomb. Tomorrow morning..." he sighed, stepping down from the throne and rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, "Tomorrow we'll deal with the families that lost men. And so on..." He trailed off, staring at some point away, before glancing back at Alandria and smiling weakly, tiredly.

She smiled back, as reassuring as she could be, and waved her fingers lightly at him. "I'll let you alone to your plans, then. You should get some rest, love."

He waved her away with another tired smile. "Some day, maybe."'

* * *

The day passed quickly, falling into evening, and then abruptly, night. Alandria did manage to find Lynwen once she retreated to clean up, and the kind maid's joy at seeing Alandria alive easily persuaded Alandria to laughter. Lynwen was then eager for all manner of details about the battle, and over the course of a _very_ long bath Alandria happily obliged. Soon though she was called for, and left Lynwen to join Éomer and a score of Riders for a meal in the Hall. She sat on the lord's left, while Éowyn was seated at his right. The meal passed surprisingly quickly as none were eager for talk - not with knowing the number of men that were missing from the Golden Hall, and certainly not with their families waiting for them. Éomer ended the short meal with a toast to those that had fallen, and those that still rode. The men echoed him, and one man in particular remained standing a moment to toast to Éomer, wishing him strength and good health and a good reign. Éomer smiled abashedly, and thanked the man before releasing them all, save a few, back to their homes.

The few that stayed behind were to help Éomer with the digging of Théoden's tomb, and then Alandria and Éowyn would help prepare it. Normally they would have found servants to do the task of digging a grave, but Éomer insisted Riders do it, in honor of Théoden, who would be known forever as one of the greatest Kings of Rohan, doomed to have his son die before himself, and then to fall at the hands of the Witch-King of Angmar. The men aided Éomer without a word of complaint, and yet the relentless intensity Éomer showed as he shovelled up pile after pile of dirt made it seem as if he didn't need their help to finish the job. The men, however, merely exchanged looks and continued their work until at last, over an hour later, the proper-sized grave had been dug.

Éomer sighed heavily and leaned against the shovel he had now wedged in the ground. "Thank you, men." He breathed heavily, panting slightly. "I am sorry to have kept you from your homes, but that would've taken far too long by myself." He smiled slightly, and then gestured for them to be off. "I've got it from here, thank you. Very much."

"Not a problem, m'lord," "Of course, m'lord," they replied, each turning away and slowly trudging back up the road to the gates of Edoras.

Éomer glanced down at the dark grave he had just dug with a weary sigh, and then returned to Edoras by a path that led behind Meduseld, letting him straight into the back of the Golden Hall. The path was tricky and rocky, but it had been made years and years ago and was now as safe as it could ever be. Éomer had navigated it only a scarce few times, but found his way easily enough. He stepped straight into the hallway beside his chambers, and slipped into his room to clean up quickly before going into the Hall. Once he did, he found Alandria and Éowyn seated at a table in the Hall, talking quietly about a variety of things - namely, Éowyn and Faramir's engagement, and what the wedding would be like(Éowyn insisted it would be small, likely held in Gondor or some peaceful part of Ithilien). They turned to attention upon Éomer's entrance, and both rose obediently. Éomer hesitated at their rising, unnerved by the lordly manner everyone was already treating him. Hadn't he stated he wasn't yet their King? Such actions from people made him uncomfortable.

"It's done." He finally said under their silent gazes, and his words seemed to break the stillness.

Alandria took half a step towards him before hesitating, seeing Éowyn was still in the room. The White Lady, however, was not blind, nor näive.

"It's late, I ought to retire. I have a feeling tomorrow shall be tedious enough." She glanced at both her brother and Alandria before smiling faintly, and bowing her head to her brother. "I shall see you both in the morning."

"You shall." Éomer replied. "Sleep well, Éowyn."

"Goodnight, my lady." Alandria put in, as Éowyn nodded at them once more, then turned and quickly left.

Once the sound of Éowyn's retreating footsteps had disappeared, Alandria turned back to Éomer. "She's getting good at that, isn't she?"

"Getting good at what?"

"Leaving us alone. I wonder if she feels uncomfortable around us?"

"No," Éomer shook his head, wandering back towards the throne. "I think she just feels we need it."

"Hm." Alandria studied the man before her for a moment, before sighing heavily to catch his attention.

"What?" He asked, glancing up at her.

"Can I go see the grave?"

Éomer paused, surprised by the request. "Why would you want to do that? It's a hole in the ground. That's all." Alandria said nothing, and Éomer sighed, but with a faint smile. "Fine, fine. You'll need your mantle though - it's getting cool out."

Alandria was quick to retrieve the dark, earth-green mantle Éomer had given her before they supped, and strode back into the Hall still fixing it about her. "Ready." She stated after a moment.

Éomer nodded, and started towards the door leading to the path behind Meduseld. Alandria hesitated until she became aware that he was not waiting for her, and then followed after him. "Where are we going?" She called, and the man stopped once he realized she was further behind him than he'd thought.

"Sorry," he apologized once she'd caught up, "I forgot you don't know about the door back here. It leads to a path," he explained, "the trails right down to the tombs of all the past Kings. I'm sure some King generations ago had it built out of convenience." He pushed open the back door, and stepped out, onto a smooth path that declined sharply, turning towards the right. "Careful- here ya go...steady.." He held Alandria's hand as she stepped onto the path as well, and slowly led her down it. Everytime she stumbled or slipped - actions that were not uncommon on the sharply declining path - he would halt and do his best to stable her, until they finally reached the bottom. "There now," he said as they came to a straight path on even ground leading the last meters to the burial mounds, "That wasn't so bad, eh?" He grinned boyishly down at Alandria, who smiled back despite rolling her eyes.

He let her go then, as they came upon the sixteen symbilmnë-covered tombs, and made his way towards the open pit of Théoden's grave. "Here it is." He said. "Only a hole in the ground, Alandria, we needn't be out here-" He turned to her, but she was not beside him. She stood a couple meters away, looking not at the tombs but at the dark city of Edoras, scattered torches winking in the night. "Alandria?"

"There." She pointed to a spot he could not discern. "That torch that is closest to us, right against the wall? That's where we lived, my father and I. Of course because we were only two, we weren't the only ones in the house. We lived with another Rider, Bergin, and his wife, Lothya." She paused, still staring at the house only she could see. "I don't suppose he's alive."

Éomer turned away from Alandria then, his gaze falling on all the tombs around him. Tombs of previous kings of Rohan, back to the very first. Sixteen generations - soon to be seventeen. No, wrong - now was the eighteenth. Seventeen passed, the eighteenth would soon begin. Yet what about when that too passed? And who could know if it would even last an entire generation? Yes, Rohan would eventually be safer than it had yet ever been, but even that would not last - there would always be some enemy to fight, whether it be orcs or men from other lands. And what if he fell before he could produce an heir? Rohan would fall because of him.

Alandria came to his side then, yet Éomer was only vaguely aware of her. She held a flower of symbilmnë between her fingers, and was spinning it slowly. "What are you thinking about?" She whispered, pressing herself closer to his side.

Éomer took a moment to reply, gently taking the white flower from her fingers first. Alandria watched him intently, studying the thoughtfulness in his dark eyes. Éomer held the little white flower up into his eyesight, peering at it intensely as he spun it through his fingers. "Long has this flower grown on the tombs of dead men. Someday, the sybilmnë will cover my own tomb." He finally said, dark eyes never leaving the little white flower. "I will die, and become another mound alongside the other kings of Rohan." He dropped his hand, letting the flower fall to the ground.

Alandria's brow was bent in confusion. "Éomer, what do you mean by this?"

He turned to her then, holding her arms in his hands, staring earnestly into her dark green eyes. "I can die at any time, Alandria. There is no guarantee I will live another forty years, to die a peaceful death in my old age. I could be dead within the year, the month, for all we know - the week." His features were desperate now, his wide eyes pleading. "You must understand that, Alandria - one day I may ride out to check the lands, and not return. It's that easy, that simple."

Alandria was finally shaken by the man's earnest words. "But..but Sauron is destroyed.. Saruman too... Orcs won't-...they no longer have a ruler.."

"Yet they still exist. And they will continually exist, until, somehow, we can hunt them all down and wipe them out - _all_ of them. And that...that could take a while."

"Why are you telling me all this, now, here?"

The young lord's features softened, and he released his desperate hold on her. "Because despite what you say, I fear I will not be able to rule Rohan right. But as it is my duty, I shall try my best anyway. But in trying so, I just... I want you to know what you're signing on for, Alandria." He appeared only sad now, sympathetic as well, as he tenderly touched the side of her face. "You already lost two people you loved to orcs and battles. I hate to be a third."

"Éomer," Alandria sighed, pulling his hand from her face and taking it in her own. She stared up at him for a long moment, unable to find the right words to say, and finally just leaning against his chest. "I promise you - I'm willing to take the chance."

Éomer did not answer her; only held her closer, and pressed a soft kiss into her hair. 


	31. Such As Thus

**Here it is, the end. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this story and reading everyone's reviews, and I thank you all so, so much for keeping me going :) I hope this ending doesn't disappoint, nor seem too sappy! **

**Cheers, till next time**

**xx**

* * *

Time passed. What felt like days became weeks, and the end of May quickly approached. Éomer, Éowyn, and Alandria rode back to Minas Tirith, to retrieve Théoden's body. Upon arriving at the White City, Alandria was surprised - and yet immensely pleased - to find the company of the Fellowship still all resided there. They all followed with, as well, to return Théoden to Rohan. Aragorn came with his Queen, Faramir with Éowyn, Legolas, Gimli, the hobbits, and a fair number of Gondorian soldiers travelled as well, as guard for the new King. The journey back to Rohan took even longer than the previous leisurely one, and Alandria found herself often stolen from Éomer's side to talk and laugh with the hobbits, especially Merry and Pippin, who, despite all that had happened, still kept their normal cheerful silliness. Frodo was obviously more somber and thoughtful, Sam as well, though perhaps not as obviously. But Alandria let them be, pleased rather to talk with the younger hobbits and Legolas or Gimli. Aragorn spoke with Éomer often, learning of the Horse-lord's hard work at restoring order to Rohan.

Éomer had learned the names of all the Edoras-Riders that had fallen, and a ceremony had been held to honor all of them and their families. Then he left nearly every day to scout the land with the remaining Riders, trying to flush out whatever Orcs they could find. The foul creatures had gotten wiser though, and were proving difficult to find. They appeared to know they were outnumbered. But whenever Éomer and his men gave up the hunt for Orcs, he would retire to his study in Meduseld, and pour over documents, speak with advisers and counsellors a-plenty, unceasingly trying to understand the politics and economics of being a King - and he didn't even hold the throne yet. Aragorn appeared to understand the younger man's difficulty and frustration, experiencing similiar instances himself. But the Ranger-King clearly knew better how to govern people, his noble-blood naturally applying such skills to him - but of that advantage, neither man mentioned.

After many long, leisurely days, the company finally arrived at Edoras. The hobbits seemed thrilled to be done travelling for a short while, as they all admitted they'd had quite enough of moving about in the previous several months. Merry in particular though seemed pleased to be back at Rohan, even if for such a somber occasion. He had somehow procured the little pony, Stybba, that he had ridden to Dunharrow, and now pranced the little creature proudly up the streets to Meduseld. Many curious peoples peered out of their homes, and then stepped out, as they recognized at the head of the approaching column, next to their soon-to-be-King, the Ranger-turned-King they'd heard about. Now they all believed Éomer's tale. No one doubted the elegance and power and ease with which Aragorn held himself, nor could they see anyone but the King of Gondor deserving such a beautiful Queen. It was not long before the people were bowing to the passing company. Aragorn and Arwen modestly smiled and nodded to the watching crowd, and then at Éomer's signal, dismounted before the steps of Meduseld. Several stable boys immediately flocked to lead the horses away, not even needing a command in their excitement. Éomer paused then, as if unsure what to do next. After a moment he gestured for the company to follow into the Golden Hall, and they did so readily.

In the Hall, Éomer suggested that the people that would like to should clean up, and dress for the funeral ceremony. Each person disappeared to follow his suggestion, but Alandria rushed, happy to be back home, and with the whole Fellowship. Well, a part of her nagged, as whole as the Fellowship could ever be again. As she entered the Hall she found it quite busy, filled with serving girls and cooks and a couple of the boys in the house-staff. They were all rearranging tables and chairs, creating one large, long table for all the company to sit at after the funeral. She could smell the food already cooking in the kitchen, as well.

"Funny, don't you think," a voice chirped from her elbow, and she looked down in surprise to find Pippin already washed and clean beside her, "that after a funeral there's always a bunch of food?"

Alandria smiled softly. "Yes, I do think it's funny. Rude, actually, is how I've always found it."

Merry appeared then too. "I don't know if I'd say _rude_ - we're just tryin' to enjoy bein' alive ourselves, y'know?"

"Yes," Alandria smiled widely, "I suppose I do. I'm actually quite surprised you two are already out and about. Quick baths, for you."

The two hobbits flushed and grinned, but Pippin just shrugged. "Merry was in a hurry. I just figured he'd need some company."

Alandria turned to Merry, and he just smiled faintly. "In truth, I missed Rohan. Gondor is lovely an' all, but...well I'm sure you understand, Alandria."

"Aye, Merry, indeed I do." She smiled kindly at the little hobbit, but then a shadow of sadness passed over her features. Merry had been Théoden's loyal little esquire only for a couple days, and then the King had died. She had heard that the hobbit had looked to Théoden as a father-figure for a while, and it was unnervingly depressing that he should lose such a man so soon. "Are you going to be alright, Merry?" She asked. "At the funeral, I mean?"

The hobbit immediately sombered, eyes dropping for a moment. "I dunno. As alright as I can be, I s'pose."

She only nodded, and reached out to gently grasp his shoulder.

"There you all are." Alandria and the two present hobbits looked up at the woman's voice, and Alandria smiled to see Éowyn and Faramir approaching from across the Hall.

"Hello, my lady." Alandria greeted, then bowed her head to Faramir. "My lord."

He grinned, shaking his head. "Faramir, Alandria, please. You know better."

She smiled crookedly. "Fine then, Faramir. Are you well situated? Was your room comfortable?"

The man chuckled. "Very comfortable, from what I could tell of being in there for scarcely twenty minutes."

Alandria flushed at her eagerness. "Right. Well how long are you planning on staying? I'm not sure I ever really heard a length."

Faramir and Éowyn exchanged a glance, then both shrugged. "We're not sure." Éowyn replied. "It all depends on how things...turn out." Alandria, confused, opened her mouth to ask a question, but Éowyn quickly turned to the hobbits. "What about you guys? How long shall we have your company?"

"I'm not right sure." Merry answered. "It's up to Frodo, really. I think he wants to be gettin' on back to the Shire soon."

"I'm sure we'll find out in time enough." Alandria said, smiling down at the hobbits, only to look back up at the sound of footsteps. Legolas and Gimli approached. "Nice to see you two."

The both nodded in reply, and then Legolas politely claimed their attention. "I have been appointed to inform you all that the others - Queen Arwen and King Aragorn, with Gandalf, Éomer, and Sam and Frodo - shall meet us outside at the burial grounds."

"So are we to go, then?" Asked Pippin.

"Indeed."

"Well then," Éowyn said with a deep breath, "let's go."

The small gathered group followed her and Faramir out the doors of Meduseld, down the steps and the long road winding down through the city, out the main gate. Merry and Pippin stayed close to Alandria, while Legolas and Gimli walked a couple steps behind, talking quietly. The hobbits were surprisingly quiet during the long walk, sombered by the event they knew was coming. Finally they came to a stop amongst a small crowd of already-gathered people. Alandria turned to talk to Legolas, and was surprised to find a trail of people had followed them from the city. She stared in alarm, and Legolas followed her gaze in confusion.

"Ah, yes," he said, "Éomer told the people that if they wanted to come, they could. He feels they should all be able to say farewell to their King, who died so valiantly in such a battle." He turned back then to face Alandria, but she turned quickly away.

She bit her lip as she waited for the rest of the town to empty; tears of grief over the fallen King Théoden, and of compassion for the man that would be King, were beginning to overwhelm her. She stood at the side of an aisle that had been formed, much like when Théodred had died. To her left stood both Merry and Pippin, and from somewhere had come Sam and Frodo to join them. To her right was Legolas, next to Gimli. Across from her stood Faramir, with Éowyn on one side and Gandalf on the other. Aragorn stood also next to Gandalf, with Arwen holding his hand. She may not have known the King Théoden, but she understood the importance of such a death. The rest of the aisle was formed by guards and Riders, while behind stood what Gondorian soldiers had travelled with Aragorn. The townspeople were steadily filling in any other spaces. Éomer, though, Alandria could not find.

A murmur began then, a soft whispering passed through the crowd. Alandria waited anxiously, glancing uneasily into the dark tomb that she stood beside again and again. The clink of armor, the thud of booted footsteps - all signalled that the King's body was coming. She looked down the aisle, and saw a handful of soldiers carrying a bier with a covered body on top. For a moment she was dismayed not to see her King's face, but then she was comforted, as she realized the face he would have now, over a month after his death, would not be the same face he had in life. And that she did not want to see. So the body was carried slowly down the aisle, and those that wanted tossed flowers on the body. Alandria took a shaky breath, her vision smudged slightly with tears. She remembered a crowded battlefield, a winged monster, and a white horse over a broken body. With a choked sob, she turned her face down, closing her eyes for a moment. The bier was closer now, only footsteps away. Éowyn sang no song, no one murmured - the air was still and silent for this death. The bier was passing by, into the tomb. Alandria did not lift her head. She heard the soldiers rest the bier down inside the tomb, and then back out. Slowly, she raised her eyes.

Éomer stood before her, but he was not facing her. He had been at the back of the procession, and now stood looking down into the grave that darkened with the waning light. His audience waited, watching him silently. He took a breath, swallowed nervously, and spoke, "Valiant beyond many. Strong beyond thought. Kind beyond belief. Such as thus was Théoden, son of Thengel, and such as thus shall we remember him." He looked up then, and slowly turned to face the crowd watching him. His dark features were stern, and strong, as he continued. "He led our Riders into a battle that we should not have been able to win - yet we emerged victorious. Victorious in a battle unlike any battle before - a battle that determined whether Middle-earth as we know it would stand or fall. And with this great victory there must always be losses - so we've seen from the hundreds that lay slain on that field, never to return to their homes. Amidst those losses not only did our husbands and our fathers and our brothers and our sons die, but our King. A King whom all loved, and all still love. And he loved us. Because of this love, he gave his life for us, and for all of Middle-earth. Such as thus was his never ending kindness. And such as thus, shall we remember him." Éomer turned back to the grave below him, and bowed his head. "_Wes pú hál._" He murmured, and was echoed by all that were gathered around him.

Then Éomer picked up one of the shovels that was still thrust into the ground beside the grave, and plunging it into the mound of earth that lay nearby, he dropped the first shovel-full and began the burial. Alandria hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and took up the other shovel, to drop her own in the grave. She extended her arm to hand it to Merry, and as she did Éomer caught her eye. He smiled slowly, then nodded his approval and handed his shovel to Legolas. Then one by one, each and every person gathered at that funeral - which was every person in a currently-emptied city - donated their own shovel-full of dirt to the burying of King Théoden. It was a funeral for a great King in a great battle, and it was forever remembered.

Later that evening, once the townspeople had dispersed back to their houses and those

* * *

of higher ranking had returned to the Great Hall, there was a feast. Alandria understood Pippin's comment about the awkwardness of eating after a funeral, and she picked uneasily at her chicken and vegetables. The hobbit himself seemed to have forgotten his words, and he and Merry both delved happily into their large meals. Not so for Alandria. Her stomach churned, threatening lest she dare put anything in it. She recalled the mound of grass and flowers now over King Théoden, and the sixteen others that lay around him. She recalled the talk with Éomer several nights ago, about such tombs. And she realized how right his words were, how easily he too could be laid under a mound of earth. Fear of that thought crept upon her, further sickening her gut. Already she lost a father, a Prince and a friend, a King, and a lover. All to the same evil force. She was hesitant to lose the last thing she had.

The seat to her right creaked, and she started in surprise as Éomer returned to his seat beside her. He caught her alarmed look and smiled warmly, slowly melting her anxiety. "Hello, love," he murmured softly, "how've you been holding up?"

She smiled nervously. "Well enough. What about you - you're the one that lost an uncle."

He sighed, dropping her gaze for a moment and glancing around at the gathered peoples, all talking merrily around the table as they ate. "Well enough myself, I suppose." He looked slowly back at her, and smiled weakly again. "Don't worry about me."

"Don't? You worry about me plenty, I ought to return the favour." She smiled and took his hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

Éomer smiled down at their hands for a moment, before clearing his throat, his smile fading, and looking back up. "Alandria, I have been thinking... About us, and our..our marriage."

Alandria watched him intently. "Yes?"

The man glanced up at the oblivious people still around them, and gently - self-consciously - pulled his hand from hers. "Um, well, I was thinking that we ought to have the wedding when I am coronated - officially, you know. And I think that'll be happening shortly, for the sake of Aragorn and the hobbits and such. I think they ought to see you married, and they likely won't be staying here for very long. Does that make sense?" He gazed anxiously into her eyes again, his dark hazel pools wide and nervous.

Alandria nodded, puzzled by the man's anxiety. "Yes, of course... That's soon, but.."

"Are you sure you still want to get married?" He asked. "I will understand if you say no. And I just...I don't want to leave you alone. I don't want to be like..like your father, and my uncle, and-and Boromir." He still stared at her, concern etched deeply into his handsome features.

"Éomer-" Alandria started, but he interrupted her again.

"I love you, you know that yes? I love you more than I've loved before. More than I thought I could. But I don't want to hurt you."

"'Eomer, you could never-... I know you're scared for what might happen. I am too. I'm terrified, really." She admitted, trying to smile. "But I...I have faith that we'll be alright. Because I love you too." She smiled a little more, reasurringly. "I love you."

The Horse-lord smile easier now, and leaned forward to kiss her, but checked himself just in time. He glanced around the feasting table again, ignoring the knowing smirks from his sister, Faramir, and Merry; dismissing the puzzled looks from some of the Riders. He looked down at Alandria again, with a faint smile. "We ought to be more careful."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "You're the one that decided to have a heart-felt conversation in the middle of a feast - with you at the head of the table."

The corner of Éomer's mouth turned up in an apologetic smirk. "Just had to get it out."

"Suit yourself."

He grinned briefly, then glanced at her plate and furrowed his brow, his grin vanishing. "You're not eating again?"

Alandria glanced sharply at him, taking offense to his term of 'again'. "I'm only not eating right now. I don't feel right." He still eyed her small-and-untouched-plate carefully. "Trust me, I'll be eating normally by tomorrow. Right now I'm just uneasy."

"I'm just worried you...y'know, something might happen like last time."

She smiled gently. "Éomer, last time I was heartbroken, and over something bigger than losing my King - and last time, I didn't have you to keep my head up." She sighed, and ran her hand along his arm, before gently touching his hand, and then pulling away. Damn being in public.

Éomer merely smiled in return, and then a mishchevious glint came into his dark eyes. Alandria furrowed her brow in confusion but he merely grinned, and then stood. The peoples seated around the long table quickly silenced, looking to the young lord in curiosity. He let the silence deepen for a moment, before breaking the stillness with a nervous half-smile. At his smile, anxious fear struck Alandria as she realized what he was about to do.

"Éomer, d-" she started, but he cut her off.

"Thank you all for your attention. I apologize for interrupting your feasting, but I have an announcement to make that I feel I shall not be able to contain." He paused here, clearing his throat as he glanced down at Alandria with a small smile. She flushed nervously, and looked out at the people surrounding the tables. She caught faint smiles on Éowyn, Faramir, and Aragorn's faces, and assumed they knew as well as she did what the golden-haired Horse-lord was about to say. "First - my coronation shall be two days from this sunrise. Abrupt, perhaps, but it has been delayed for weeks already. Yet, there is another reason I wish to have it so imminently..." He glanced down at Alandria again, assurance in his warm gaze. "Immediately after the coronation - the very day of it - I am..am to be married. To this lady here, Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn." He reached down and gently pulled Alandria to her feet, smiling all the while. She trembled with anxiety, uncomfortable being under the gaze of so many people - a fair amount of them strangers - and to have them all know she loved the man beside her. "And so, in two days hence, Rohan shall have a proper King, and his wife. Thank you." Éomer bowed formally to them all, and then leisurely sat back down.

Alandria stared at him, overwhelmed by his sudden announcement, but he pretended not to notice and began talking with Éowyn, whom sat on his right. Alandria too had her own attention claimed as Merry, who sat beside her, began eagerly talking. Pippin too jumped in, both of them babbling about Alandria and Éomer's engagement and how happy they both were, with Merry saying that now he had all the more reason to visit Rohan again. Modestly and nervously, Alandria followed their conversation, flattered and anxious. In two days time, she was to be married.

* * *

The sun was high, bright and warm, and a soft breeze carried the smell of grass and flowers all through Edoras. People bustled about in the streets, everyone visiting everyone else, all urgently talking about the exciting marriage about to occur. The soon-to-be-new-king Éomer had recently changed some of the old laws, yet the only one that caused any talk was the one of marriage: now, under his ruling, it was acceptable for a King - or Queen - to take as partner in marriage a person of any birth. Some thought this change selfish of the new King, and outrageous. Others were simply excited. Either way, it was happening, and soon.

Alandria was again in the chambers she'd first stayed in at the Golden Hall, and was again taken care of by Lynwen. Éomer had tried to move her to larger chambers, but she had refused, insisting she would change to a different chamber only when it was theirs to share. Reluctant but amused, Éomer had given in. Now Alandria was victim to Lynwen's primping and fussing, twisting and pulling on her hair, while Éowyn retrieved the dress. She'd searched for the perfect one constantly in the short time between the announcement and the wedding day, but had finally decided the best dress would be one made from scratch, and despite Alandria's alarmed arguments, her measurements were taken and sketches drawn up in record time. But now the day had arrived, and Alandria was trying to catch her breath as Lynwen took command of her hair.

"Really, Lynwen, it does not matter-"

"Of course it does, milady! It matters just as much as the dress. Which, yes," she added as Alandria opened her mouth to speak, "that _does_ matter."

Alandria merely sighed, giving up. "I really don't think I can wait for all of this to be over with, Lynwen."

"But it's your wedding day, milady!"

"And it's turning into a madhouse. Must we have the ceremony on the steps? The whole town will be there."

"That's the point, milady. Not to mention Éomer is being crowned king, too. You know, I heard there are even people coming from all over Rohan!"

Alandria closed her eyes wearily. "No, I hadn't known that."

Lynwen glanced at the dark-haired woman in the mirror, and noting the tense lines on the woman's face, smiled softly. "Try not to worry, dear. It'll all be over in a couple of hours, and you'll be happier than you've yet been."

A soft knock came at the door then, relieving Alandria of furthering the conversation. Éowyn's head peeked around the door, and at Lynwen's word, she entered. The golden-haired woman held a small bundle, but the grin on her fair face gave away any surprise; Alandria knew what she held.

She eyed the bundle, unable to mask her fear. "That's it, then?"

Éowyn nodded.

"I suppose I should put it on... Lynwen, are you finished?"

"Just, milady," Lynwen smoothed her hand over the many braids and pins in the woman's dark hair, and then stepped away with a smile.

Alandria stood and took a slow breath, then faced Éowyn. "Ready."

Éowyn smiled wider, and unfurled the bundle of cloth in her hands. The dress fell open: it was floor length, slender, a soft white, with silver running down the center, lining the swooping sleeves, and patterned like stars along the lower half. Dangling from her fingers, Éowyn also held a necklace of silver, pearl, and glittering diamonds. Alandria couldn't help but stare.

"Well?" Éowyn finally asked with a smile.

"I can't wear that," Alandria breathed, still shaken by the beauty of a dress she'd never dreamed could ever be hers. "Especially the jewelry. I can't...is that yours?"

"It was my mother's. I never wore it and at my wedding I wore Faramir's mother's jewels...you deserve this."

"Éowyn.."

"Please, Alandria. You're going to be a Queen soon. You must wear this."

Alandria stared for a moment more. "As you wish," she finally replied.

"No, Alandria, as _you_ wish." The pale lady smiled again. "Come now, we shan't keep my brother waiting too long."

The dress laced up in the back, and thanks to that addition, it could be opened wide enough to drop over Alandria's shoulders without bothering her intricately done hair. Lynwen and Éowyn set to work swiftly, tying the delicate cloth around Alandria's waist, dropping the jewels around her neck. She stood in the small room breathing shakily, under the beaming smiles of the two women. A nervous nod, and she was led into the Hall.

The expansive Golden Hall was unnaturally emptied, all peoples having already gathered before the steps of Meduseld in preparation for the ceremonies soon to come. Only the rare maid or soldiers stalked by, but they too were dispersing to the steps. Lynwen and Éowyn walked on each side of Alandria, leading her to the large doors, from which she could hear the murmur of the enormous crowd, and the shifting of those important enough to stand on the landing.

"Alandria!" A cry broke the quiet air of the Hall, and Alandria jumped as she turned towards it.

"Merry? Pippin? What are you two doing still in here?"

The two curly-haired hobbits scrambled towards her, beaming. "You look amazing, Alandria!" Merry exclaimed with a crooked grin.

"You're absolutely beau'iful," Pippin agreed, smiling warmly.

Alandria flushed, twisting her hands nervously. "Thank you, very much. But shouldn't you two be outside by now? Where are Frodo and Sam?"

"Oh they're out there," Merry answered casually, "but we've just got somethin' to give ya first. If you don't mind."

"I'm sure I don't. What is it?"

"Give it to her, Pip," the golden-haired hobbit nudged his friend.

Pippin then pulled his hands from behind his back, revealing a simple crown of white flowers. Simple, but beautiful, the flowers woven together so finely, their intwined stems could not be seen. Alandria took it carefully, gazing at it in surprise.

"You don't 'ave to wear it," Pippin added quickly, "we just thought you might like it, with yer white dress an' all."

"Of course I'll wear it," Alandria replied with a chuckle, "it's beautiful! And perfect. I knew I was missing something. Lynwen, can you..?"

"Aye, milady," the maid immediately took the flower-crown from the woman's hands, and carefully nestled it into her hair, shifting some of the pins already there to help hold it in.

Alandria smiled down on the two travel-worn hobbits, reassured by their gift that she was making the right choice. "Thank you, both of you, so much." They grinned happily. "Now get on out there so I can see you when I get married, hm?"

"Absolutely, Alandria," Merry nodded, flashing one last grin, and pulled Pippin after him out the door, stopping as close to the landing as he could.

"Are you ready now, Alandria?" Éowyn asked softly, watching her friend carefully. "Everyone is out there, Éomer included. He has only to be coronated and then-"

"I know, Éowyn," Alandria breathed, watching the large doors, "I know. But I'm ready."

The fair Queen of Ithilien smiled, nodding, and gently led the soon-to-be Queen of Rohan into the sunlight.

The sun was dazzlingly brillaint, blinding Alandria as she first stepped out of the Hall. Murmurs from the crowd reached her ears. She turned, swallowing nervously, and her eyes roved quickly over the faces gathered near her. Each member that remained of the Fellowship lined the crowd at the edge of the steps, joining her on the top step was Gandalf, opposite him stood Éowyn, with her autumn-haired husband. But opposite of herself was her entire reason for even being on those steps. Éomer stood patiently, a soft smile on his lips. He was dressed as tradition called for: in his battle armor, freshly polished and gleaming like a hero from a fairy-tale; rich leather, bronze, and silver. His golden hair was pulled back from his face with a leather tie, better revealing the dark brows that framed his dark, warm hazel eyes. He stood tall and straight, hands clasped politely behind his back. Calm and collected as he appeared, chaos and panic were a whirlwind inside him. There was no doubt in his mind that this was what he wanted, but he could not beat away the fear that Alandria might not truly want him. She was only obliging herself with him because better men were either dead or taken. But as Éomer saw a fear similar to his own reflected in her eyes, and odd reassurance washed through him.

"Hey there," he dared to murmur, reaching a hand out to her.

Alandria offered a small, shaky smile and eagerly accepted his touch, her fingers grasping his with a strength and desperateness only they knew. "Hey," she breathed back, already feeling emotion choking her.

"Quiet!" Gandalf commanded, raising and deepening his voice, demanding silence and attention from the gathered crowd. Sound vanished in an instant, and the wizard of shimmering white smiled softly at the man and woman holding hands before him. "We are gathered here to see the crowning of a king, forming of a leadership, and bonding of two people. Firstly - the crown!" He turned, and Éowyn bore the wizard the crown of bronze and gold, intricately knit together. Gandalf held it towards Éomer, who had turned to face him. "Éomer, son of Éomund, sister-son and heir to Théoden, previous King of the Mark, I place this crown upon your head as a symbol of power without corruption, and leadership without selfishness. You are now, and shall be until the day you pass, the King of the Riddermark. May your reign be blessed."

With those words, Gandalf placed the crown firmly upon Éomer's brow, just as a roar errupted from the people behind him. Alandria couldn't help smiling, a thrilling rush cascading through her, and she could only imagine how the man felt. A slight sweat was upon his brow, and his wide dark eyes stared numbly before him. He appeared to be trembling.

Gandalf raised his hands for silence, and it quickly came again. "Now to an equally important matter," he paused and smiled comfortingly at Alandria, his deep blue eyes sparkling like sunlight on the sea, "it is my duty to bring together Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn, Rider of Rohan, Walker of the Fellowship of the Ring, and Éomer, Rider of Rohan and King of the Riddermark, to be bonded together for their natural lives. Alandria - you have faced leagues and perils never expected even in your worst imaginings, and you have prevailed. You have overcome the loss of a loved one, and found friendships in unlikely places. You have survived losses and fears, and come now to the steps of Meduseld to create a life for yourself that you never dreamed of. Do you, Alandria, willingly take this duty and burden and these joys, with the King Éomer, to be yours? For you to be his wife, and he your husband?"

Alandria could hardly breathe at the end of Gandalf's speaking. In his words she saw the entire journey of the Fellowship played out a hundred times fast, and every emotion from all of it - Rivendell, Moria, Lothlórien, Boromir, Amon Hen, the Plains of Rohan, Meduseld, Helm's Deep, Isengard, Éomer, Gondor, Faramir, Éowyn, Éomer, Éomer.. - flooded her at once, taking her breath and sending her reeling. Only faintly did she hear the wizard's last words. Her eyes, brimming with the strenuous emotions of past memories and current moments, fell to the handsome man across from her. Éomer looked expectant, almost afraid, but just as beautiful as ever. Life had gone ways Alandria could never have predicted, and come to a point she could not believe, and would not turn from. She nodded, never moving her gaze from the golden-haired King. "Yes, I will take him."

The warmest and most uplifting smile Alandria had ever seen shone on Éomer's features then, and he shifted, impatiently waiting for Gandalf to speak the second part. But first Alandria found a bronze goblet handed to her, half-way filled with a dark wine. She knew what it was without explanation, and took a tenative swallow, and then waited.

"Éomer, King of Rohan, the burden of kingship was never intended to be yours, nor was it expected by any. But, as we all are beginning to find, the unexpected chance is often the best opportunity. In a matter of weeks you lost a cousin that was like a brother, friends and soldiers that were like family, and a King that was like a father. You very nearly even lost the rest of those you love, and yet you risked your life for the lives of all Middle-earth without hesitation. You are strong, and have become wise beyond your years. You are offering a life of lordship to a woman not of noble birth, and therefore changing laws laid down for centuries. You do understand this?" Éomer nodded, his warm gaze never wavering from Alandria. "Do you, Éomer, King of the Riddermark, take this change and duty and joy, with the lady Alandria, to be yours? For you to be her husband, and she your wife?"

Éomer swallowed and nodded quickly, releasing a heavy sigh. "Yes, gods yes," he whispered. Alandria handed him the goblet of wine, and he took it in trembling hands, emptying it of liquid.

"With these words, the wine that both their lips have drunk, and the love they share, I join Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn, and Éomer, son of Éomund, King of the Riddermark, in marriage until their time in this world is spent."

Gandalf smiled, applause and cheers errupted from the crowd, and Éomer pulled Alandria to him. His lips claimed her own, one hand caressing her face, and Alandria could hardly stand. The King's touch and embrace was protection and love and strength, and it was everything she needed. Boromir of Gondor was dead, gone, and would never return. The place he had in her heart would never be filled again. But she could bear that loss, because she had gained something in it's place. A life and a love foreverlasting.

* * *

**Namarie**


End file.
